QUIDDICH FANFIC COMPETITION LEAGUE ENTRIES 2014
by Ladyfun
Summary: All of the entries written by Ladyfun for Season 2014 of the QLFC event. There will be femmeslash abound! You have been warned. Fleurmione, Bella, even Draco makes an appearance.
1. QLFC: Education of the Priviledged

**Author**: Ladyfun

**Title: Educating the Children of Rulers, Priests, and Nobels. **

**Pairing**:

**Rating:** Generally K+

**Disclaimers:** All of this (Ladyfun gesturing big wide circles over the computer with her hand) belongs to J.K. Rowling. I own nothing, and this is all for non-profit fun. And I sure as heck don't own Quiddich.

**SUMMARY:** For the Quiddich League Fanfiction competition/Round 11?. The little white lies that we tell ourselves in order to get through the day can come crashing down around one so fast, one can't breathe. Ron is about to learn exactly how that feels as he enters his first job following "The Big One."

**A/N #1:** Written for Round 11 /Season 2 of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. Position is Sub for Chaser 3 for the Wigtown Wanderers. Chaser 3 prompt: Law Enforcement

**A/N #2**: OPTIONAL PROMPTS: 1. (restriction) No word said 2. (word) destiny 3. (word) information

**Random technicality: I can't post new fanfics, it would appear, so I am posting it in another spot in one of the old stories. Sorry if there's confusion.**

* * *

**Title: Educating the Children of Rulers, Priests, and Nobels. **  
Round 11/Dancing through the Years  
Position: Beater 2- Prompt: Year 503/A Day At School  
Team: Wigtown Wanderers

* * *

"What's this?" Hermione uttered, a mysterious large package arriving wrapped in the finest golden paper arriving to her stoop by owl. "Who sent this?" she asked the owl, but it was too late. He had already departed.

Hermione reached to open the ornately wrapped gift, until a firm grasp on her shoulder caused her pause.

"S'il vous plait, ma belle..." came the soothing voice of her spouse, and Head Auror, Fleur Delacour.

"Always working." Grumbled the former Gryffindor.

"Non...just want to make sure my precious cargo stays in one piece, zat is all." After performing a series of counter-enchantements and hex breakers, Auror Delacour was satisfied that the package was safe, and gave her wife the nod.

"Open."

Hermione's eager hands ripped open the packaging, causing her bride to chuckle. Hermione's eyes widened, as she read the inscription on the front inlay of the ancient book. It was a rare, never-before seen, 1st edition printing of Hogwarts: A History.

"Mon Dieu!" Fleur gasped.

Hermione's face went white as she read the inscription on the inside of the book. Vaguely familiar penmanship taunted her, and when she realized who the inscription was from, she became even whiter, if that was possible.

_Dearest Muddy,  
If you are reading this, that means things went horribly wrong in the war; all I have to say in that regards is damn, damn, damn! I can't envision how that happened, but then again, I can't believe my longstanding records for O.W.L.S. set in 1959 was beat by a stupid mudblood 28 years later who happened to be very intelligent and earned my respect. (I suspect you know to whom I am referring...Granger.) I'm sure you're probably a big reason that those two sniveling pubescent lunatics found their way out of a paper bag in the first place.  
I have left strict instructions in the event we lost and you won, and I died and you lived, that this be delivered to you upon your 21st birthday. So...happy fucking birthday, Muddy! It's too bad your blood was so impure, I have to say, there was only one other person that loved this book as much as I did. As much as I hate to admit it, that person happens to be you.  
However, this is a very special edition. This tells the real beginnings of Hogwarts, and is from my family's library. When you read further, you'll understand why we own this; it was later revised by my great-great grandfather, who was none to pleased by the role of slaves in our family's origins. Everyone has skeletons, I suppose. I would prefer that you keep this private, Granger, but it is a gift, and you are free to do with it as you wish.  
Finally, as a parting bit of advice: enjoy the book, and appreciate your gifts. Knowledge is the only thing that matters, in the end.  
Respectfully,  
Bellatrix Black_

_P.S. For what it's worth, if you haven't already done so, don't marry that red-headed Weasel! He's not even deserving of washing your laundry. Go for his sister, or some other hot witch. Follow your destiny. If you haven't figured it out, you were __way__ into me, Granger, and you like women! Don't sell yourself short, like I did. As I have clearly demonstrated, life is short. Hopefully you didn't kill me, because if you did, well...I want my book back! Only kidding. Keep it, and live well, Hermione Granger._  
_BB_

Hermione looked up, a tempest of emotions going through her. Even dead, Bellatrix Black could still affect her. She cleared her throat.

"Well, she had me pegged, huh?" Hermione mused, tactfully, noticing the jealous fury percolating dangerously close to the surface on her Veela mate. "But, wow, she really got it wrong. I was never into her... I _swear_!"

Fleur had a very measured tone. "I 'ope for your sake, 'ermione, zat iz true..." huffed the disgruntled Frenchwoman.

Hermione groaned, but pulled the heavy tomb to her lap. It was ornate and the embossed letters alone were stunning. The book was simply, in a word, astounding. It was Hermione's dream come true.

"Why don't we read a little of this, shall we?" Hermione continued, nervously. Her precise intonation filled the room, as she started the first chapter, aloud...

**XOXOXOXOX**

_As read from the 1st Edition Printing:_

It was often misconstrued that the origins of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry began in the 10th century. That is an incorrect assumption.

It is when the first formal recording and public declaration of the school became official; however, the truth of the matter is that it had been operating in secret for centuries prior to the formal recording. It was a school that was kept alive by word of mouth and was started by a dedicated Greek slave, that adored his little student, named Morgana, on or around the year 503 _Anno Domini._ It was started as a place of refuge, where those who were different and perhaps not up to the standards of modern society, could learn and obtain an education without fear.

It began as a safe haven for magical folks to learn, in an environment free of persecution.

The story begins during a very troubled time. The onset of war in the Roman empire against the Persians had ransacked the majority of the eligible school age males; sadly, the year that had seen so much bloodshed would be the first of many long years to come of war waged between the Persians and the Romans. The reasons were irrelevant; the inability to define the borders and the relationship between the two empires were at the heart of the entirety of the conflict. Truthfully there was enough land and bounty to go around many times; the two heard headed empires would not come to that realization until much later, in 567 AD.

The wars had a cost that went beyond trade, commerce, and gold, however. The disruption to society and the evolution of civilization would take a back seat to hostility.

Yet, somehow, the informal school on the Western border of the land had still managed to scrape by; granted, it solidified its standing of the backs of former Greek slaves who had a penchant for learning and teaching to to the majority of its formal schooling.

How_ ironic_ that the slaves would be the one teaching the class of nobility deemed suitable to receive an education: children of rulers, priests, and nobility.

The "privileged" class.

However, the love of learning had been deeply ingrained into the fabric that comprised the Greek souls, who grew to love their charges. Knowledge, and the free exchange of information, was a value embedded into their very DNA; to not teach, to not learn...that would be the tragedy. More so than enslavement, even. So the first concession of the Roman elite was to allow the slave class, although highly educated, to teach their children.

The second allowance of the Romans would be to allow the daughters of the locals families to enroll them in the school while the sons were deployed to keep the numbers up. It was on the first day of the informal school year in 502 that a young girl would begin her first vestiges of formal learning. Within an inconspicuous little cluster of children interested in learning, one stood out. There was no child as conspicuous as Morgana Black, the future namesake to her famous granddaughter, Morgan Le Fay. Her granddaughter would be widely regarded as the nucleus of the future bloodline that would become the famous pure-blooded lineage of the Black family, of England.

However, Morgana Black, herself was the furthest thing from legendary. While she was pretty and drew a crowd to her, she was lonely and interested in pleasing those around her. She would often wander to the stream and help Titus, the Greek slave assigned to her class, with his daily chores. He could dissuade her as much as possible, the fact of the matter was, she was lonely. She stayed long after other kids had gone home; her parents were both often gone on long journeys to other faraway lands as they were the senior states persons for the region and frequently handled affairs of the state for the emperor.

They were important people indeed, and could not be bothered with a small child.

Titus seemed to be the only soul patient enough for the curious child; he constantly challenged her. On one trip back from washing the school linens, he watched flabbergasted as the linens folded themselves.

"Great Ceaser! What is this witchcraft?" He gasped.

As quickly as he uttered it, the linen fell to the Earth.

"I'm sorry!" Morganna Black apologized. "It's just...you had such a large load...and I didn't want you to fall behind...I...I just used my specially powers to help it go faster!" She wailed.

He hugged her. "Oh, child! You did nothing wrong, nothing! But," He whispered, looking around furtively. "Don't show anyone else! They wouldn't understand it's a gift!"

"What's a gift?"

"Why, your _magical ability_, child!" With a wink, he wandlessly spelled the rest of the linen into his basket, causing Morgana's eyes to widen in kind.

"Titus...you..." She murmured, unable to finish.

He pulled her into a hug. "Shhh. Be still, little blessed one. Do not fear. It has been my job, all along, to cultivate your talent _when and if_ it presented itself. Fear not. I'm here for you."

"But how?"

"Your father. He knew this day would come, and he sent for me. Don't worry. He has made other provisions, as well, little one, I promise."

**XOXOXOXOOXO**

They never spoke of it again, until the next year, in 503 A.D. Once upon a time, in earlier times, the Roman empire had viewed witches and wizards as equals to mortals, or close to it; but magic was quickly falling out of favor and looked down upon by the Empire at present.

And on that twelfth day of school, on 503 A.D., it was a hot day, and lessons had been particularly tedious. Morgan Black had excelled, and had completed her entire allotment of work completed, she festered in the corner wondering how her fellow students and "privileged set" could be so damn boring.

She twirled her black ringlet in her hands, tied in the patrician upsweep famous in her time; and send her piercing black eyes on a blond girl in her class.

Ugh. Agrippiea Mendonzia, the most foul of the foul. She couldn't stand even looking at her! The little snark had been quick to tell their teacher that it was Morgan who put the snap beans in the new teacher's tunic. Really, what use in telling that information was there? She mused. Tattle tell!

But that day was infamous for the sheer fact the previously far away notion that there was war distantly around them came dangerously close to home. Persian soldiers stormed their town, and burned most of the city to the ground to send a message. They looted, and killed all who they came into contact with; however, Titus would not let that happen to his prized pupil.

He scooped her up, and she felt the nauseating feeling of whooshing through time and space; a feeling that would later be formally dubbed "apparating."

She landed with a thud, somewhere altogether...different.

"Where is this?" She wondered, aloud, as she gazed up at the daunting spires of a magnificent castle that seemed to reach the sky.

Titus chuckled. "It is no consequence. The borders are hidden." He grabbed her hand and they started walking towards a large castle looking building up ahead.

"Wow...what is that?" She asked.

"Morgana, welcome to your new school. Welcome to Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, a school where you will be taught how to use your magic, not conceal it. Welcome to your first day of school."

She smiled brightly, until she saw next to her, an equally dazed Agrippiea Mendonzia.

Seeing her mortal enemy, she sighed. "Craptastic." She swore under her breath.

Well, life isn't always a fairy tale, now is it? Along with the sunshine, there's bound to be a little rain sometimes, as well.

Thus began the _true_ start of the greatest school for magic ever known, Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, built in the 6th century by patron saints, the largest donation of course from the esteemed House of Black in the year 503 A.D.

From the downfall of one of the proudest Roman cities rose up the endowed school for the children that were just a little bit different.

**XOXOXOXOXO**

Hermione read the altered version of her favorite book many, many times; especially during her pregnancy that was quite difficult. She was put on bed rest at 5 months, and that was the equivalent of water boarding torture to the active witch.

She put it up once their lively son was born; he was everywhere, all at once. Etonne Granger Delacour had the distinct traits of having his mother's beauty and his mother's brains...and it was a deadly combination. Multiple tutors had thrown their hands up, crying out he was positively beyond help, and Hermione secretly feared he would be too much of a handful for Hogwarts.

That was, however, until an unexpected knock on their front door happened that day, seven years to the day of his birth.

"Hello, Madame Granger, Madame Delacour." The well-dressed gentleman waltzed in, placing his bowler cap on their coat rack. He surveyed the room, seemingly displeased, murmuring about "too many distractions."

"Excuse me? You are...?" Hermione quickly offered, attempted to diffuse the attack posture Fleur had assumed in their living room.

He looked at her incredulously. "Who am I? Really?" He looked around the room, warily. "Where is he?"

"And who might sat be, Monsieur?" Fleur growled, dangerously low in tone.

He rolled his eyes. "Mr. Etonne, of course!"

Bounding around from the corner, he giggled. "Ditty bag! Ditty Bag!"

"Etonne Granger Delacour!" Hermoine huffed.

"Aw, Ma!" He whined.

The stranger struck him on the backside of his head, looking directly at him. "Young man, that is the last time you will disrespect your mothers, in my presence! Do you understand?"

He gulped. "And you are...?"

"My name is Mr. Titus Magister," He explained, rather impatiently. "I have been sent to ... mold...the young man who is to become the most powerful wizard in England, such as it is. However, he is currently little more than a disgrace, a borderline juvenile delinquent, at present...or so I am told. Is that true?"

"Who said that?" The young boy clenched his fists.

He waved his hands. "That is of no consequence. What matters is that we begin our studies. I have been doing this for a long time, young man, and have had more clever witches and wizards than you try to fool me."

By way of example, Titus pulled the "Fantastic Exploding Zonker" from Weasley's Joke Shop hidden in his pocket by the young wizard and exploded it in his hand. "I assure you, if Morgan Le Fay and Bellatrix Black couldn't fool me, you Sir, will not be able to, either. Shall we begin?"

Hermione and Fleur looked at each other, equal parts flabbergasted and grateful.

Hermione couldnt help thinking to herself, _somewhere, right now, Bellatrix Black is laughing her ass off. _

**FIN**


	2. QLFC: In Praise of the Ugly Duckling

**Author: Ladyfun**

**Pairing:** Dorcas Meadowes/Marlene McKinnon

**Rating**: Generally T

**Disclaimers:** All of this (Ladyfun gesturing big wide circles over the computer with her hand) belongs to J.K. Rowling. I own nothing, and this is all for non-profit fun.

**SUMMARY**: For the QLFC.

Dorcas has felt like the proverbial ugly duckling her entire life; her time at Hogwarts only compounding that dread. Worse, her longtime crush is the unattainable, attractive, and outgoing Griffyndor, Marlene McKinnon. Marlene is too involved with her friends Lily, James, and Siruis to notice someone as introverted as she…until one fateful day that will change her life forever.

**A/N: **Written for Round 5 /Season 2 of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. Position is Beater 2 for the Wigtown Wanderers. Prompt: First Date. Optional prompts used: 1. (quote) No pessimist ever discovered the secrets of the stars, or sailed to an uncharted land, or opened a new heaven to the human spirit. Helen Keller 2. (word) frostbite 3. (word) pristine

* * *

**Round 5 - Some Love for the Early Exiters**

Title/Link: **In Praise of the Ugly Duckling**

Team: **Wigtown Wanderers (Dorcas Meadowes)**

Position: **BEATER 2/ First Date**

* * *

Dorcas had become a skilled observer of life.

That's what happens when one is not a participant; they fall into the the category of either completely oblivious, or overly observant.

She wasn't always so introverted. Her family had moved to England when she was nine years old from what had been her happy life in Greece with her boisterous extended family to the prim and proper society life of England, due to her father's promotion. Being an only child, she missed her cousins and aunts and uncles, and the joy of life that Greeks possessed. The pureblood circles they ran in nowadays were as much fun as putting a fork into your eyeball; and her mother was constantly worried about how Dorcas would embarrass her. She liked nature, exercise, reading; she didn't like parties, or doing her hair, and worst of all, She wouldn't join in on "mudblood" baiting. Her sense of fairness quickly earned her the nickname "Dork-Ass" from her peers. She was met with a cool reception after one horrid day she spoke up when three purebloods were ganging up on a muggle-born exchange student; after that, she practically got frostbite when she tried to enter any games or conversations following her act of social justice.

Instead of commending her for standing up for the battered boy, her mother advised her to "try to fit in, a little better, for once, Dorcas!" She told her only child that she was creating unnecessary challenges for her family to get acclimated in proper society.

When she got her letter from Hogwarts, both her parents had a visible sigh of relief. They were prepared to donate heavily to Beauxbaton's to get her in; but somehow, she managed to secure a spot, despite her less than stellar social skills and her progressively introverted personality.

She had hoped that Hogwarts would provide her a different life, or at least a small reprieve from her loneliness.

At first it looked promising. All the horrid children of her parent's acquaintances were sorted into Slytherin; miraculously she was sorted into Hufflepuff. But at the end of her first year, she had her growth spurt and went through puberty, becoming as physically awkward as she felt inside; no one else had gotten their period yet – and she was a constant source of teasing, although it was much kinder by the loyal Hufflepuffs, at least.

Oddly enough, it was the boisterous Gryffindors that were the kindest of all to her. She remembers vividly two of the prettiest girls in her year, Lily Evans, and Marlene McKinnon telling a group of Slytherin girls to "sod off" when they were playing with her maxipad case, playing keep away with it in the bathroom. Marlene had extended her long, elegant arm, and intercepted the case with lightening quick reflexes, handing it back to the mortified Hufflepuff. She winked at the bright red Dorcas, whispering, "Hey, we'll all be needing these, soon enough, right? Except for Alicita, over there," the blonde Gryffindor said, pointing to the meanest Slytherin. "…because she's _secretly a man_, and will _never _menstruate." Dorcas laughed, for the first time, that afternoon.

Lily finished up giving them all a verbal tongue lashing and the Slytherins sulked out of the room.

"Chin up…er, _what's your name, _again?" Lily asked.

"Dorcas. Dorcas Meadowes." She whispered.

"Well, chin up Dorcas." Lily smiled.

The beautiful blonde Gryiffindor next to Lily grinned again. "Yeah! Besides, you're like a foot taller than all of them – you should kick their Slytherin bums next time! Bye the bye, I'm Marlene – but everyone calls me Marny-and this here is Perfect Lily Evans, who is going to be late to her first class ever if we don't hurry up!"

"Oh, bloody hell! Thanks Marny! See you around, Dorcas."

She watched, wistfully, as the two Gryiffindors bustled out of the bathroom, running towards their next class. She envied them – their grace, their camraidare, just their joy de vivre in general. She would grow to envy something else, asl well: That night, she had her first dream filled with blond hair, and long arms, and the girl with the infectious smile.

**XOXOXOXO**

It wasn't until their second year she would have her next run in with Marny. During the Care of Magical creatures class , she observed the goings on, as she usually did, from the back of the class. The teacher was slightly overwhelmed during the hands on portion of their session with Fire Crabs; Marny was in deep concentration, trying to coax her Fire Crab into behaving, and didn't realize four Slytherin boys, two from her neighborhood, had snuck up behind her, and turned their crabs backwards facing Marny, which Dorcas found curious. She followed their line of sight when they started backing away; off to the side, she saw a fifth boy aiming his wand towards the crabs to hex them.

She knew what would happen if they got attacked and agitated; they would shoot a scalding flame from their bum, hitting Marny squarely on her backside!

With an agonized "No!" She lept into action, sprinting at full speed. She lept over the chairs, pushing Marny away from the crabs as the hex was fired off. In a blaze of fire and explosions, Dorcas didn't realize what happened, only feeling a pain so intense she passed out on the spot.

When she came to, she saw the curious faces of her bunkmate from Hufflepuff, and five Gryffindors, oddly enough, sitting by her bedside.

Her bunkmate Elese just looked worried, but the Gryffindors looked … grim. Grim and determined. She knew Lily and Marny, of course, but didn't know the boys. Marny quickly introduced them. James Potter. Remus Lupin. And Sirius Black.

She recognized James from Quiddich matches she had watched, and she vaguely recalled Sirius from some balls she had been forced to go to. It was he that spoke first.

"That was a pretty idiotic thing you did, Meadowes. Its not everyday a Pureblood sacrifices themselves for a half-blood, y'know." Sirus said, gesturing towards her badly scalded leg.

She swallowed.

"Sure you're not a Gryffindor?" James said, with a grin.

"What's wrong with Hufflepuff?" Her bunkmate said , irritated.

Lily quickly interjected. "Nothing. Besides, I think Dorcas showed she's a true Hufflepuff. Loyal and kind. You were really amazing, doing what you did. I saw you leaping over chairs faster than James, here, ever caught the Snich. It was amazing!"

"Yes," Interjected the cerebral Remus. "You really earned your name….Did you know your name means Gazelle?"

"I did not." Dorcas croaked out.

Marny, who had been quiet the entire time, finally spoke. "So…so you're a pureblood?" She asked, quietly.

Sirus laughed. "Blimey, McKinnon? Where've you been? Yes, from one of the oldest lines in Greece! The Meadowes are bloody loaded!"

"Oh." She said, quietly, looking down, frowning.

James was laughing. "Yeah, old Dork-Ass and Siriusly Mental here are the two that got away from Slythern! Slytherin refugees."

"Your family…were Slytherins?" Lily said, in disbelief.

"yes, the ones that didn't go to Drumstrang or Beauxbatons, that is." Dorcas said, uncomfortable with all the attention on her.

"Is that why they Slytherin girls are so mean to you, all the time?" Her bunkmate said, with sudden realization.

"I guess. That, and I wouldn't let them beat a muggle born exchange student to death when I was ten."

Sirus let out a low whistle. "Dangerous! I like you, Meadowes!"

The newly appointed Nurse Pomfrey came around, shooing out Dorcas' visitors, informing them she had to graft and debrede Dorcas' leg, again, and insisting on her resting. Everyone shuffled out – save one.

Marny McKinnon.

"I never said thank you, Dorcas. So..thank you." Marny said, quietly. "I feel terrible…you're going to have scars, for life…"

Dorcas shrugged. "Eh, no biggie. Besides, I never said thank you, either."

"thank you…to me? What on earth for?"

_For being so impossibly beautiful, that's what…_ Dorcas thought to herself.

Blinking, she said, "For…um, rescuing my feminine protection, you know."

The blonde Gryffindor looked at her like she was insane. "Merlin's beard! You're not serious…are you?" She laughed, outright.

Her laugh was magnificent. So pristine, so joyous, so perfect…just like her.

Dorcas followed her out, when Nurse Pomfrey finally banished her from the ward. Smiling, she said, "You've got it bad, dear."

"What?"

Madame Pomfrey looked at her incredulously. "You sustained third degree burns, on 20% of your body for that girl. That's typically what's known as "you've got it bad" means." She said with a smirk, as she went to work.

**XOXOXOXOX**

Marny became a regular fixture in the infirmary, even helping Madame Pomfrey from time to time. Dorcas was happy, for the first time in her teenage years in the two weeks it took to recover.

It was Marny that helped her carry all her belongings back to Hufflepuff tower, and Marny who patiently stacked everything away.

It came time to go, after they devoured the "congratulations" chocolates that the Gryffindor contingent had bought for her. As Marny was leaving, she noticed a wadded up parchment she had missed in Dorcas' bag.

"What's this?"

"Nothing!" The embarrassed Hufflepuff said, snatching it out of her friend's hands. "Its just a letter from home."

Unexpectedly, tears immediately welled up in Dorcas' eyes.

"Dorcas!" Marny said, alarmed, scooping the girl up in her arms. She sat her down on the bed, and said, "you're really upset. Can I read it?"

Marny was genuinely concerned, and ever so gentle with her friend.

Dorcas nodded, glumly, handing it over. She watched as Marny's beautiful face quickly dissolved into confusion, and then anger.

"Bloody hell!" She looked at Dorcas. "How do you deal with these…these…"

"My parents?" Dorcas said, glumly.

"I don't believe this! Reprimanding you for getting those slags from Slytherin in trouble! They should be commending their brave daughter!"

Dorcas looked down at the floor, saying nothing.

"Did they, Dorcas?"

"Did they what?"

"Did they commend you, for what you did? For saving me?"

The taller girl just sighed. "Look, my family…purebloods, in general, have sort of a different set of …ethical values than the rest of the world. I did something shameful. I ratted out some of my parents' friends children."

Now Marnie was tearful, and sat next to her friend. Placing her hands on either side of her face, she spoke, passionately.

"_They're wrong,_ Dorcas. You're worth so much more than that! You're worth more they they will ever be."

"I hope so." She sighed. Her stomach was in knots, with the proximity of her longtime crush next to her.

It was almost too much.

"Marny, I'm…I'm kind of tired. Do you mind…?"

It was Marny's turn to blush. "I'm so sorry, I'm being a real prat! Of course you're exhausted. "

She stood and turned to leave, pausing at the door to issue a sad smile.

"Good night, Dork." She teased. "Thanks…for being you."

"What choice do I have?"

Marny shut the door, gently, as Dorcas continued to smile at the door, staring at it long after the beautiful Gryffindor had left the room.

**XOXOXOXOXO**

By her fourth year, things had turned the corner for Dorcas Meadows. She had friends. _Real friends._ Most importantly, she had a best friend.

And that best friend had become something else, indeed. Marny had blossomed into an even more beautiful woman, if that was even possible.

Any time a slag from Slytherin would threaten her, calling her a blood trader, she could laugh it off, now. Even when that bint Rupert Travers said the Dark Lord would_ personally_ come get her for betraying her kind, turning her back on such a wealthy and prominent pureblood lineage as the _House of Meadowes, _she could simply roll her eyes, nowadays.

It didn't bother her, anymore.

On one of their many weekends out together with the posse, James and Sirius had converted her into a Quiddich player, after discovering her speed and athleticism, and skill on a broom. After a few hours, she was almost as good as they were.

The boys strong-armed Hank Diggorey, the Hufflepuff Quiddich captain, into giving her a mid-season tryout; the Hufflepuffs regarded her warily as she was practically a card carrying Gryffindor now, at this point. However, she was undeniably good, and a new member was added to the team.

Diggorey would later buy Potter and Black Butterbeers for a month.

Over time, Dorcas became one of the _best chasers_ that Hufflepuff had ever had. It didn't hurt she had the galleons to buy the fastest broom available, either, for her and the entire team. She had also grown into her body, and was as tall as most of the boys in the school, with a wingspan that was unheard of, in a female.

By the time their seventh year rolled around, ironically, the championship that year came down to Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, with Dorcas essentially carrying the team. Peter Pettegrew threatened to behead James and Sirius for giving Hufflepuff the ammunition to kill them with via Dorcas Meadows.

With ten seconds left in the game, Hufflepuff's star chaser threw the Quaffle in the deciding goal, giving the black and gold the lead. Hufflepuff was headed towards its_ first ever _school championship.

That is, until James Potter caught the snitch with _three seconds_ remaining.

Marny, understanding her friend's conflicted feelings, opted to walk with Dorcas around the lake instead of celebrate in the Gryffindor common room. They spread out a picnic blanket, and drank their own private butterbeers under the stars, laughing and enjoying their private moment.

Marny giggled out of the blue.

"What?" Dorcas said.

"What _what_?" Marny repeated, laughing harder.

_"What are you laughing about_, goof?"

Marny sighed, congenially, looking at the stars above them. "I was actually thinking, this is the _best date_ I've had in a long time."

Dorcas looked over at the Gryffindor, shyly. "Is that what this is, Marny? Is this.. a date?"

Marny paused, propping herself up on one arm. "Do you want it to be?" She asked, quietly. Although nervous, she did possess that famous Gryffindor bravery, and her gaze was unwavering.

Dorcas averted her intense gaze, chosing instead to look up at the stars, thinking hard. She felt Marny's eyes and an unexpected warmth filling her entire body.

After a long pause, she said quietly. "I don't know…I've never _been _on a date. I don't know what that entails, exactly."

She looked at the beautiful woman leaning over her, and said, nervously. "Marny, I'm not going to lie. I don't know what to do…I'm a little afraid, really."

Marny grinned. "You know, there was a famous muggle named Helen Keller who once said, '_No pessimist ever discovered the secrets of the stars, or sailed to an uncharted land, or opened a new heaven to the human spirit' _Don't be afraid. Just…go for it!"

"Go for it? Meaning what?"

"Oh! Well, I can answer that." Marny said, as she leaned closer towards her friend, who was trembling. "Meaning _this_." She leaned in, all the way, gently grazing her lips against the surprised ones of her longtime friend, which eventually kissed her back.

Marny pulled away, arching her eyebrows as she looked at Dorcas, as if to say, "_well?"_

_Nurse Pomfrey was right...she did have it bad!_ Thought the Hufflepuff to herself. She then smiled, a goofy, enamored smile, and commented with a sigh:

"Best first date_... ever."_

Then, with the wing span she was so famous for, she reached up, pulling the Gryffindor down gently, kissing her again.


	3. QLFC: Let It Go

**Author**: Ladyfun

**Title: Let It Go**

**Pairing**: Bellatrix and Andromeda. Bella -n- Andy. Awwww.

**Rating:** Generally K+

**Disclaimers:** All of this (Ladyfun gesturing big wide circles over the computer with her hand) belongs to J.K. Rowling. I own nothing, and this is all for non-profit fun. And I sure as heck don't own Quiddich.

**SUMMARY:** For the Quiddich League Fanfiction competition/Round 13: Romance. Pairing: Bella and Andy. Two young patrician beauties. Two girls in love, as told to the Golden Trio. Love, misunderstandings, more temptation; you've probably heard this story before...just set to music. The Black sisters.

**A/N #1:** Written for Round 13 /Season 2 of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. Position is Beater 2 for the Wigtown Wanderers

**A/N #2**: OPTIONAL PROMPTS: 1. (quote): life is life, fight for it; 2. (word) gruesome; 3. (word) happily

**Random technicality: I can't post new fanfics, it would appear, so I am posting it in another spot in one of the old stories. Sorry if there's confusion.**

* * *

**Title: Let It Go: The legend of Adelle Dazeem, as Ladyfun**

Round 13/Romance  
Position: Beater 2- Prompt: Bellatrix/Andromeda  
Team: Wigtown Wanderers

* * *

The Black Family Vacation Estate: Circa 1966

* * *

"Bella! Hurry! Ugh, why must you walk so slowly!"

The dark haired beauty was clenching her fists, trying hard not to self-combust as she practically sprinted in the snow.

"I guess because I have seen every side of this damn mountain since I was two years old, Andy!" Smiled the older sister, bemused. "And I know what's waiting for me up ahead. Snow!"

"Not like this, Bella!" She said, excitedly. She reached down and grabbed the hand of her bemused sister, and happily tugged her along. "Hurry, we're going to miss it!"

Bella Black allowed herself to be yanked up ahead by her younger sister, Andromeda Black. They reached a clearing that frankly was a little dangerous to traverse; on top of the embankment, Andy flopped down, in the snow.

"What are you doing?" Bella said, incredulous.

Andy patted the ground next to her. "Come, Sissy! Wait! I promise, you won't be disappointed." The auburn haired beauty looked off to the horizon, her eyes excited and full of life. "Wait."

Bella complied, and laid down next to her sister. What she was waiting for, she had no idea; but the few minutes she laid there, she was painfully aware of the heat from her sister laying next to her. Bella's eyes drifted over to her sister, with a certain subterfuge; her breath caught, as her eyes raked over her sisters clearly maturing form.

When did my sister become so beautiful? Her form so mature? Her essence, so ... desirable? Bellatrix wondered, in anguish.

It was wrong, so wrong, to think this way; and her innocent and happy little sister was waiting to share something, probably some crappy bunny snow rabbit or some other bollocks of that ilk, with her! Because she's so innocent, damn her!

Bella frowned. I ruin everything, Bella thought, to herself. I turn everything dark; but I won't destroy Andy's innocence, I promise this...

"Bella," Andy hummed, with a gentle smile, "Stop angsesting over there! I can feel it running off you, you know!"

"Really?" Bella said, cooly. "What else can you feel, little sister?"

Andy just hummed. "You'd be surprised."

Beofre she could elaborate, however, Andy's head turned with a snap as the first crack of sunlight peered over the horizon. "There, Bella! Look!" She squealed, excited.

Bella's eyes followed where Andy was gesticulating towards, only to gasp when she saw it: he most beautiful fire rainbow of the early morning sky!

"A fire rainbow..." She gasped, in awe.

"Actually," Andy whispered in a low and reverent tone, "it's neither a fire nor a rainbow, Bella! Its something called a circumhorizonatal arc, as the sun rises and hits the frozen fractals of the morning sky! It caused a prism of light that-"

"Hold it, hold it, right there, McGonnigall! That's enough, I'm all set with "fire rainbow," thanks!" Bella grinned, teasing her enthusiastic sister. "Leave me to my ignorant grasp of science, and let me just admire the beauty, okay?"

Andy pretended to pout. "Fine, then!"

"Look, not all of us are destined to be brilliant healers, Andy! Some of us will just have to toil along, and do the family business, so to speak."

They watched the fleeting rainbow disappear as the sun continued to rise, and Andy just lay there, completely content, dark eyes settling on the one's so similar to her own, mirroring her gaze, as they lay side by side on the ground. She let out a sigh.

"You're so much more than that, Bella." Her voice was wistful.

Bella shrugged. "Maybe yes, maybe no...I mean, I know you make me feel like I could make something of myself...but other times, I scare myself, you know?" She mused. "Regardless, I think its decided for me. Father says my training begins next week, in earnest."

The beautiful younger woman looked troubled. "Promise me you won't lose yourself, Bella; not like Mother. Mother has become...gruesome, I dare say." She said, in hushed tones.

"Please? Do you think Father scares me?"

"No, I think no one scares you, actually; that's your problem." Andy said, chuckling. "No checks and balances."

Bella gave her a playful shove, and the two looked out to the horizon, each lost in their own thoughts. It was finally the younger that broke the silence.

"I discovered this vantage point last week. I had to bring you...have you ever seen anything so beautiful before, Bella?"

Bella's eyes were no longer on the morning sky, but rather, fixed on her younger sister, with an unspoken yearning. "Actually, yes, I have."

She looked down, convincing herself of all the reasons this was a horribly bad idea.

But Bellatrix Black would never be known for avoiding horribly bad ideas, ever. Her eyes shot up, and fixed on her sister's, almost feral, in intent. Her voice was deeper, unexpectedly, when she continued to speak.

"I have seen something that beautiful before, Andy; I've seen you."

Andy's eyes went wide, with her older sister's confession; and she let out a small breath.

"Oh-ohhh?" She squeaked. "Me?"

Bellatrix nodded, assured. "Yep." She smiled a wicked grin. "You."

"I'm...I'm...I'm not beautiful, Bella! Not by a long shot-"

"Hush, sister."

Andy heedlessly rambled on, nervously, regardless. "Because, Merlin's Beard, if I'm beautiful...which I'm not...then you must be beautifuller!"

She blushed at her creative oratory skills, quickly becoming silent under the intense gaze of her older sister. She closed her eyes, as she felt a soothing hand on her cheek. She felt her rambling finally come to a stop, as the warm, full, and amazing lips of her sister alighted on her own.

Bella was kissing her! On the lips. Open lips!

Full lips.

Full...amazing, delicious lips...

Completely consumed by the burning desire that instantly coursed through her with that simple touch of Bella's stolen kiss, suddenly she had nothing further to say on the topic of meteorologic anomalies of the morning sky.

Instead, she just...let it go.

* * *

The Hunt for Horcruxes, Circa Winter 1997

* * *

"What's this?" Hermione said, with a decided scowl.

The Golden Trio had been on the hunt for horcruxes for months now, and all three couldn't remember when they last ate a hot meal comprised of all four food groups. Hermione was fairly certain that she was destined for scurvy, and to make it worse, winter was upon them.

Scurvy and frostbite. Two additional reasons to hate Voldemort! Or, perhaps, Albus Dumbledore, who set them on this mission in the first place. Or both.

They had been trudging in the snowbanks for what felt like years when a strange rotund man in suspenders came upon them.

"Ah, you're here at last. Come into my cottage…"

The three held out their wands at the ready, prepared to take down the strange little man.

"…Oh! I almost forgot. Minerva owled, saying you were coming, and told me to tell you something…." He paused. "Something important."

He stopped walking, at a loss.

"Oh yes! Blast ended screwts! What an odd thing to go on about!"

The three sighed, relieved, the secret password of the Order indicating this odd man was safe.

"She also said to feed you a good meal, and to make extra for the red-headed one, who eats like a boar! Or a pig! Or something porcine, I think…."

Hermione and Harry laughed, excited to have a real meal, at last.

**XOXOXOXO**

It was perhaps their post-meal euphoria that overcame them, but their host, Olaf Von Reklinghaus, was a veritable wealth of information, and an excellent story teller. He retailed them with fantastic tales, and despite his rambling, and they found themselves staying up far later than they should have. Truthfully, they enjoyed being regaled in all sorts of stories and history of the families that had made their vacation homes in the mountain resort.

Hermione was enthralled with the tales of the residents of the house of Windsor, as well as the family Von Trapp; and Ron enjoyed hearing about the obscenely wealthy pureblood family lines and their obscenely dirty laundry. It was Harry, who had remained quiet in the corner, who put it together; the reasons their travels had taken them out of Great Britain into this Nordic winter wonderland.

"Olaf..." Harry interrupted, thoughtfully. "Did you ever...hmm. Well, forgive me if I'm being nosy, or impertinent, but.." Harry swallowed. "Did you ever have any experience with anyone from… the House of Black?"

Olaf's eyes went wide, and he made a barely perceptible motion of _shaking._

Shaking…in terror.

Harry held up his hands, as if to cry "no foul," hoping to calm the strange man down. "Sorry, mate, it was probably a stupid question." He said, sincerely.

They could hear the fire crackle and the winter winds blow outside.

Hermione's eyes had narrowed, looking back and forth between the small man and her best friend, and her eyes widened in the eureka moment when she realized what Harry was about.

"Brilliant!" She muttered, under her breath.

Mouth stuffed to all dimensions, Ron looked at the Golden Girl. "mrugh, huh?" He grunted in her direction.

In a loud voice, she said, "Beignets! I said, are there any benignets?" She covered.

Olaf was quickly shutting the doors and locking the shutters, as if the mere mention of the name would cause a royal guard to appear, and whisk him off to Askaban.

He looked furtively at his young trio of guests. "I'll tell you the _real story_ of the House of Black," He said, in a conspiratorial tone. "But only after we ward off the cabin, okay?"

"Right-o," Harry said, as he and Hermione leapt up to assist. Ron remained at the table, eating. As they finished off the last hex, Hermione looked at the suddenly serious man, and asked a leading question.

"Olaf? If I didn't know better, I'd say you were a bit of a fright, actually! The Blacks are that awful, are they?" She said, playing ignorant.

"The House of Black. Ugh! They had the entire west mountain, they did! Money for days, in that family…and cursed. That family is cursed!"

"I see." Hermione said, seriously. "But…it didn't seem like there was much left there, on the west mountain, now. Nothing to be scared of, right?"

He snorted.

"Why, the Blacks aren't still there, are they?" Hermione reasoned.

Olaf sighed. "Oh, the Blacks are always there, on the West Arendelle mountain, young traveler! Its a little known fact that they are the monarchs of the mountain, to anyone outside our small province! It's in the constitution, actually, and why the Black keep that palatial mansion up on the hill as their vacation residence."

"A mountain has a constitution?" Asked Ron, confused.

"Oh, yes! The oldest continuous monarchy in existence, actually. Although, I fear, it will pass out of the hands of the House of Black, as I doubt HRH Bellatrix would willing abjugate or pass the reigns to her younger sisters or their children. The monarchs of Arendelle, they are cursed. Their bodies may leave, but their souls do not, I suspect."

This was sounding a little too much like Divinations for Hermione's liking, nor did she need to hear that the patrician Blacks were more entitled than they already acted; so she cut to the chase.

"_Are they still there,_ or not? Is their stuff there?" She asked, annoyed, while trying to remain vague.

"Such as..?"

"Oh,_ I don't know_…." She began, nonchalantly. "You know...servants, personal belongings, robes, wands; evidence that a family is in residence? Maybe even memorabilia like books, runes, or… weapons, even?"

"Yeah, like that! You know, something ike a sword?" Harry interjected.

Hermione just rolled her eyes at his lack of subtitles, while Ron chewed on, blissfully unaware.

"Come!" He gestured them into the living room. "I'll tell you the tale, and answer your questions." He looked at Harry pointedly. "Including the location of the Sword of Gryffindor, young Potter." He said, with a sheepish grin.

Hermione and Harry looked at each other, shocked. So much for them being subtle.

Things just got interesting for the Golden Trio.

**XOXOXOXOX**

"When the two Black girls were little, they were here all the time, without fail! The eldest, Bella, was a real daredevil, that one!"

"What a surprise." Ron said, sarcastically, mouth still full having brought the leftovers with him.

Olaf ignored the interruption. Looking at Hermione and Harry, he continued. "Her younger sister, Andy, was more cautious; she absolutely adored her big sister!" His eyes looked wistful. "You could hear their laughter, a mile away, in the village, as they got into mischief together! One time, Bella had fashioned herself as a reindeer, and she pulled Andy in a box all throughout the downtown! Andy couldn't have been older than…three? "

The trio remained silent.

"The hijinks of those two …well, they were adorable, really."

"But…there were three sisters, Olaf…" Hermione said, curious.

The little man's face darkened. "Ahhh, yes. The littlest sister…." He said, darkly. "That girl represented the end of the House of Black."

"How so?" Harry asked.

"Well…if you know them, you'll remember that youngest had a mop of silver blonde hair, yah?"

"Yes." Hermione confirmed.

"His Majesty, Cyrus Black the third, had a head full of coal black hair, as did his wife, Drucella."

"Yes…"

"That blonde hair was the color of the hair of folks around here, if you haven't noticed. Narcissa's hair was awfully similar to the color of … oh, I don't know…say a young gentleman named Kristoff who would make deliveries to their palace, I'm guessing. Her hair was that color, for illustrations shake…" Olfaf trailed off.

"Mnnmh." Harry said, understanding. "Drucella had a roving eye."

"More than an eye, I would imagine, mate!" Ron snorted. "There was a conception!"

The storyteller ignored the hormonal young men, and continued, talking primarily to Hermione. "Well, he went into a rage, when the baby was born. And it was then that things began to turn dark, for the Royal House of Black..."

"Like….what kind of things?"

"Things. Terrible things! We could hear the screams of the wife being punished...it was awful. People should live on warm hugs, not ...that. Not that vile behavior! The servants looked like death when they came into the village for supplies."

"How awful!" Hermione said, sympathetically.

"I know, right? And yet," he sighed, "they kept coming back, here. To the scene of the crime, as it were. It was as though he was trying to punish her, to rub it in her face…"

He shook his head.

"Worse, was the day the screaming stopped." He looked tired. "Drucella was completely different. She was a robot. She wouldn't speak to anyone other than purebloods, and was positively awful to servants or any service people."

"He re-trained her." Hermione stated.

"Yes, in a manner of speaking. Once his wife was fully under control, he was left without a conscience. He was left to do as he saw fit. It was then, in the summer before Bellatrix was a second year, I believe, that he unleashed the monster."

Ron looked up from his plate. "The monster? What monster?"

Olaf looked at him.

"The heir to the throne…the heir apparent. Bellatrix Black, of course! The Black Knight. The most evil force of nature to ever be born."

Ron, Harry, and Hermione looked at each other meaningfully.

"I know what you're thinking, children! You're thinking, 'well, she certainly does suck arse, but she's like just another dark witch…right?' Well, you're wrong! No one has seen the destruction this woman is capable of, where you live! She is probably more dangerous than that Moldyvolt you English keep going on, about!"

"Voldemort," Hermione corrected, gently. "His name, self-appointed, is Lord Voldemort."

"Whatever!" He said, flustered. "I remember that snot nosed kid, poking around here; he fooled no one. He was a hanger-on-er. The one who grew up on the outside looking in, wishing he had what the aristocratic Blacks had. He was the one who broke up Lady Andromeda and Queen Bella's relationship, after all."

"_What?" _All three screeched, in unison. Ron dribbled a little pumpkin juice.

"Oh, yes." Olaf said solemnly. "They loved each other. Whole-heartidly. It was unusual, there's no question; but the truth was, there was never a deeper love than that which blossomed between the two sisters Black." He shook his head. "Some people are just worth melting over, you know?" He sighed. "But that kind of love, a pure love, cannot grow in infertile and poisoned soil. It was that Riddle kid, who planted the seed! It was he who outed the two to Cyrus; and that was all she wrote."

Olaf's coal black eyes regarded the crackling fire, and a silence settled in the room, while the trio digested this new information. Harry almost jumped when he started talking again. "But it might have been doomed, anyway. The monarch of Arendelle, Cygnus the third, had plans to unlock her subliminal darker talents…her deeply embedded dark magic, that only she possessed. It is said to skip a generation, but it hasn't been seen in these parts for over a century."

"She is a ... skilled witch," Hermione said cautiously. "And an excellent duelist, no doubt. All three of us have scars to testify to that fact. However, if her magic is so all-encompassing, why isn't she in charge of the Death Eaters?"

"What makes you think she's not?" Olaf said, mysteriously.

Harry shook his head. "Bloody hell, Olaf, you've given us some things to think about." He took off his glasses, and rubbed his eyes. "Do you think you could take us through it? Start from the beginning, if you don't mind."

"And if there might be a part in the story where you mention good hiding places for Swords, then wake me up!" Grinned Ron.

Olaf nodded, and began to weave the tapestry for them of the lives of two similarly appearing young girls; one with the weight of expectations of generations of purebloods resting on her shoulders, coupled with a magic she didn't yet understand within herself; the other, a free-spirited young girl who adored her big sister and didn't understand why one couldn't love for love's sake, alone. It would be late in the evening by the time they heard it all, so enraptured were the three young students from Hogwarts with a similar burden of expectation on them, as well.

* * *

At an Undisclosed Location Somewhere in Great Britian, Circa 1970

* * *

"Tell me it's a joke. A horrible, awful joke!"

The two women faced off, looking equally determined. The intensity of the glare that passed between them with their formidable jawlines and regal bearing would give anyone pause, should they happen to witness it. However, there were deliberately no witnesses to this encounter.

"It's not a joke, Bellatrix."

The formal use of her full name stung more than she cared to admit. But, she realized she deserved it. She had turned her back on the one good thing in her life, and abandoned her; what could she expect, really? But instead of acknowledging that fact, she masked it with a sneer, and a callous remark.

"A mudblood? Really, Andromeda? You're going to marry a mudblood?"

The woman who had suffered the slings and arrows of disapproval of the few who knew about her and Ted had suffered little in terms of her physical appearance. Time had been good to Andy; she was beautiful, elegant, and held herself like a true Black, despite her impending disownment. It was not as easy to make that claim in her older sister; the years of practicing the dark arts had robbed something of her very soul, it seemed.

"Love is love, Bella." She responded, coldly. She glared at her older sister. "You know I've always believed that, and unlike some, I stand by that motto."

Her words stung Bella, deeply. If only she knew how much I am dying inside, without her! The dark witch thought, with gritted teeth.

"Well, yay for Andy!" Bella said, sarcastically. "You do know when the shit really hits the fan, I won't be able to protect you, right?"

"I have no illusions about you, big sister. No expectations."

"I wanted to make it clear, should there be any...confusion." Sighed the older witch.

She watched as her sister picked up her cloak and prepared to apparate back to her apartment that she shared with Ted Tonks. Bella gritted her teeth, pacing, as she watched her sister. Finally, with a deep seeded anguish, she asked her sister a simple question.

"Why, Andy? Why him?"

She shrugged. "Why not him? True, he may be the understudy, but the star of the show turned into somewhat of a ... diva. There's a lot to b said for a good understudy, dear sister."

"Really?" She said, cyclically.

"Yes, actually! Chiefly among them, is the simple fact that they show up. They show up, Bella."

Bella snorted.

"It's showtime, your majesty, and frankly, you gave up on me. You don't get a vote, anymore. That's fine; I mean, that's life. People move on." She turned away, her eyes stinging. "I can't wait for you to figure out just how amazing I actually am, Bella. I can't wait for you to realize I loved you for you, and not for the monster you're turning into ... this killing machine!"

"Andy..." Chocked out the feared witch. She crossed the room to scoop her into an embrace, but she was soundly rejected.

"No!" Andy wailed. "You don't get to do that...not anymore. That's life. And life is life, as Mother Teresa once said, so fight for it. Well, I'm fighting for mine."

She gave her sister one last soulful look, before Bella winced, hearing the popping sound of someone apparanting away.

* * *

The Battle of Hogwarts, Circa 1998

* * *

"NO!" Screamed the Dark Lord's most trusted lieutenant, as she threw her body in front of the green flash of light.

The Avada Kedevra.

The green unforgivable curse was aimed for her younger sister, albeit fighting on the opposing side. Bella was able to deflect the trajectory so it missed its mark.

"What the hell, Lestrange?" Dolov said, screaming at her.

She leveled her wand at him, eyes narrowed. "Don't question me again, peasant!" She hissed.

It had its effect. He shut up quickly

The dark witch mouthed to her younger sister the word "Run!" and she proceeded t do just that. Meanwhile, Bella turned to the confused Death Eater.

"She's going to lead us straight to Potter, fool! But she can't do that if she's dead, now, can she?"

* * *

After Action Review, the Battle of Hogwarts, Circ 1998

* * *

Andy was there...sort of.

Her mind was wandering to the last few moments she spent, holding Bella's hand, prior to he death at the hands of the Weasley matriarch. It was bittersweet.

"Why do you hate me so much, Bella?"

"Enough, Andy!"

"No! Why? Why do you do it? Why do you shut me out? Why do you shut the world out?"

Bella felt more tired than she had in her whole ilife.

"What are you so afraid of?" She finished.

"I said...enough!"

Andy chose to remain silent, and simply nodded. As she watched her sister's eyes drift off, she held the hand, firmly. They exchanged one last look.

"Wait for me, where you're going, okay?" She asked her older sister, softly.

Bella had a winsome look, one of genuine happiness. It was probably the first she had had in years. She gave a weak smile, and said, "Of course, Andy...of course."

THE END.


	4. QLFC: Little White Lies

**Author**: Ladyfun

**Title: Little White Lies**

**Pairing**: None. Ron. Harry. Hermione. Ginny. Fleur. Kingsley. No letter "y". Nuff said.

**Rating:** Generally K+

**Disclaimers:** All of this (Ladyfun gesturing big wide circles over the computer with her hand) belongs to J.K. Rowling. I own nothing, and this is all for non-profit fun. And I sure as heck don't own Quiddich.

**SUMMARY:** For the Quiddich League Fanfiction competition/Round 10. The little white lies that we tell ourselves in order to get through the day can come crashing down around one so fast, one can't breathe. Ron is about to learn exactly how that feels as he enters his first job following "The Big One."

**A/N #1:** Written for Round 10 /Season 2 of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. Position is Sub for Chaser 3 for the Wigtown Wanderers. Chaser 3 prompt: Law Enforcement

**A/N #2**: OPTIONAL PROMPTS: 1. (restriction) no letter "y" 2. (word) onwards 3. (quote) "I lie to myself all the time. But I never believe me." S.E. Hinton, The Outsiders. And if it sounds stilted, that's because...**.IT IS! **As it turns out, it's frickin' **hard** to write without adverbs and other modifiers and pronouns that start or end with y! Darn you, you Quiddich mods!

**Random technicality: I can't post new fanfics, it would appear, so I am posting it in another spot in one of the old stories. Sorry if there's confusion.**

* * *

**Title: Little White Lies**  
Round 10/Crashing the Ministry  
Position: Sub for Chaser 3- Prompt: Law Enforcement (Wizenmagot)  
Team: Wigtown Wanderers

* * *

His mother was so proud of him, when he gave her the news of his M.O.M. placement.

_The Department of Magical Law Enforcement._

"Ronald! I knew you'd make the clan so proud!" She beamed. Then, her face grew dark. "Please tell me ...well, it's not as a "hit wizard", Ron…please tell me it's not that!"

His sister rolled her orbits to the Heavens, knowing the truth. "Ma, one has to have **5** O.W.L.S. to be in that section, including Defense Against the Dark Arts! Ron didn't even_ sit_ for that exam!"

Molly disregarded her daughter's unwanted brush with the truth. "_We all know_ exceptions were made for the Golden Trio, now, Ginerva! I'm sure Ronald had his _pick_ of jobs."

"You bet, Ma!" He said. "I can neither confirm nor oppose what I chose, but I can tell the public... I am indeed in The Department of Magical Law Enforcement." He said, quite proud.

"Oh, Ronald!" She sighed, beaming. She gave him another squeeze, for good measure; to which he relented, giving a sheepish grin, in return.

**XOXOXOXOX**

While it was true that he had been placed in the "glamorous" office of The Department of Magical Law Enforcement, located on the prestigious second floor of the M.O.M., people would think with some automatic thinking that it equated to "One must be an Auror.".

The Auror Office, of course, was the most well known section within his office, and the subdivision of Hit Wizards his mother referenced, also fell within this section. He had known, almost his entire life, the requirements for the job: An Auror is an uber trained specialist law enforcement wizard who investigates crimes involving the Dark Arts and apprehends resultant Dark Wizards who do these sorts of things.

Professor McG had beat it into them time after time that the job requirements for the Auror Office required a _minimum_ of 5 N.E.W.T.s -with marks no lower than "Exceeds Expectations". He hadn't met the requirements in either Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Charms, or Herbs; and for someone who had dreamed of entering the training program, he had failed, in a spectacular manner.

Ron felt certain he could pass the series of character and aptitude tests, though. However, it was not to be. He didn't get the chance, despite his "Golden Trio" moniker and credentials.

The_ other_ two-thirds of the trio, however, possessed the "right stuff," according to the Auror selection team. Potter became a "Hit Wizard", and Hermione was not just selected as an Auror, she was appointed a squad leader of an elite Auror team! This, despite her request to be placed into the Department of the Regulation of Magical Creatures, for Merlin's sakes!

He remembered the moment all three got their placements, as vivid as if it happened right now. He remembered telling himself that it was irrelevant that he had been _less than stellar_ in school, and not interested in rendering himself; school was irrelevant. After all, he was the _muscle_ of the Golden Trio, for Heaven's sake!

It was a little white lie he kept telling himself, over and over. Then again, he mused to himself, _I lie to myself all the time... but I never believe me. _He tried to avoid thinking those nagging thoughts like, "I should have studied more."

And that is where he found himself, telling himself more lies in the hopes the lies would become true, such as "O.W.L.s were irrelevant". He was saying that over and over, as though it would become true, while overhearing the Minister's conversation with Hermione, on accident.

She was making a last ditch attempt to be placed into the Magical Creatures Department in some usual Hermione bleeding-heart manner, of course. The minister was having none of it.

"Nonsense, Hermione! Hermione Granger is going to run the Auror department, soon!" The Minister said, chuckling.

"I had hoped to go to Oxford, actually, and study law, actually, Sir..."

"A _muggle_ school?" He scoffed. "What does a _muggle_ establishment have to teach _the brains_ of the trio? No, dear...I'm sorry, but I think that Hermione Granger's place is **here.** Bringing justice to our land, and getting the public to trust the M.O.M. again."

"Alright," she agreed, sounding glum. "But after 36 quarters time, I get to go to advanced civil schooling. _Paid._"

"Alright, if that wife at chez Delacour-Granger doesn't have the great Hermione Granger chasing after three kids or so, then we'll talk about additional responsibilities." He chuckled.

Hermione raised herself up to her full height. "Minister," she said, sounding authoritative, "I assure the good Minister, that The French Ambassador, Madame Fleur Delacour, has_ better things_ to concern herself with than if I can attend advanced civil schooling, or not."

She shot him a warning glare.

"Alright, alright!" He said, throwing up his hands. "It's just…I had lunch with Fleur a forenight ago, and she was going _on and on_ about her "Veela biological clock" racing so much faster than other's! That's all."

Hermione huffed, mumbling something about histrionic Veelas, as she stomped out of his office. She bumped shoulders accidently with Ron, as Ron entered.

"Oh...Hi there, Ron." She said, mustering up a smile, as she headed out the door to go find her spouse in order to give her a piece of her (rather large) mind. He looked after her, with a wistful gaze, as she did her usual Hermione rant down the hall.

"She's mental, sometimes, that one! But she means well." He offered.

The minister all business with Ron.

"Good afternoon, Robert."

_"Ronald._" He corrected.

"Oh, yes, right. Sorry." The minister cleared his throat. "Thanks for coming here. So... I've been able to honor the request submitted for placement into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Ronald."

_"Awesome!_ When does Auror training start?"

"Er…The placement is into a different section, son." He said, almost apologetic. "Well, see...your aptitude scores, Ron...Well, they-"

"But I'm one of the Golden Trio!" He interrupted in protest.

The minister looked at him, stern. "Yes," he said, after a pause. "That garnered entrance into this section for an interview. But the profilers, well, it unearthed a few things from the past, Robert."

_"Ronald."_

"Oh, indeed! Apologies, again." He cleared his throat. "The report is not exactly favorable, Ronald." He said, enunciating his name, clear as a bell. "It seems that there is a clear propensity for … being somewhat of a_ loose cannon_."

"What?" He said, dumbfounded.

"Isn't it true, Ronald, that during the now pivotal mission of the Hunt for the Horcruxes, there was documented abandonment of the mission, leaving Mr. Potter and Ms. Granger, alone?"

"Well, I suppose, but it was just for a little bit…"

"Eight weeks."

"Was it that long?" He said, nervous. "The recollection isn't so good...well, it isn't exact."

"The recollection extracted in the beginning of profiling came direct from Ronald W., and the pensive," it says here in this report, " The Minister said, reading aloud. "That is the exact locus where this information was retrieved, Ronald."

He looked around the room, nervous. "Oh."

The Minister paused. "What about the time ... documented here, that there was _erratic behavior_ during a dance? It reports that _"Ronald W. became enraged during the fourth academic calendar, with verbal abuse towards Ms. Granger, accusing her of all sorts of behavior, including fraternizing with their "enemies._" Trigger a recollection, Ron?" He asked.

"Who told about that?_ Hermione?_ Look, she's a lesbian now, one can't trust her to—"

He cut him off,with a silencing gesture. "No, Ronald, this was not provided from Ms. Granger, who, I might add, along with Mr. Potter, came to staunch defense of the "behavior exhibited," actually."

Ron looked confused. "I don't understand?"

"This incident was provided from Auror Krum, in fact."

Ron turned red. "But…he's a damn Bulgarian!"

The minister remained calm. "True, be that as it is, nonetheless he works for the British M.O.M., Ronald. He has since the conclusion of the war, in which he fought alongside the British. He has been a competent Auror for the past few months,within this section , Ronad. I hand picked him, in fact."

"Oh." He sighed. This wasn't going in the manner he anticipated.

**"**And for what its worth, Ronald, Ms. Granger's sexual orientation, as well as all the members of the M.O.M. is a matter of private concern. In short, it is irrelevant to how one performs in their job." He said, on point. "Provided one _performs_…. in their job."

Ron, once again, used his go-to response. "Oh."

The Minister cleared his throat. "However, given that I've known Arthur for a lifetime, and he has been a true and dedicated servant to this government his entire life, I am determined to find a place for his son within this section, in order to be - at least- placed with the remainder of the Golden Trio."

Ron exhaled a sigh of relief.

"A choice, Ronald." The Minister said, grave-appearing. "Which is preferred? Improper Use of Magic Office, Wizengamot Administration Services, or Department of Intoxicating Substances?"

Ron made a face.

"I guess…um, well...Improper Use of Magic, I reckon."

"Excellent choice, Son. Report to Mr. Dodsworth tomorrow at 8am, sharp. Don't let me down."

"I won't." He said, glum, as he left the room , managing a grim smile.

The minister watched Ron walk down the hall, waiting until he hit the elevators, and was safely gone. He then picked up a handful of floo powder, and threw it in.

"Is it done?" A familiar voice said.

"It is."

"Thanks, Kings. For real."

"Don't thank me too soon! And if he fucks it up…"

"I know,_ I know_…we can hope that he won't."

"Now, I believe we have a_ debt to settle,_ Madame."

The voice sighed. "I thought this office was above bribes, Shacklebolt!"

"Well...that was _before_ the famous Chaser scheduled herself to make her debut this Saturday against the Heidelberg Harriers, on a huge worldwide stage with the finals in the balance, Ginerva! This highly anticipated debut with the Harpies made tickets impossible to get...even for me!"

"So I've heard." She said, grinning. "A deal is a deal, however. What is the number a person might be in need of, if such a person were to exist, of course?"

"Well, the entire Shacklebolt gaggle are fans of said Chaser, Gin."

The Quiddich athlete groaned. "What's the number, Sir?"

"Eight."

"Ok." She gulped. "One might find them, receiving them in an unmarked owl, tomorrow."

"I better." He said, warning. "That brother... Ronald... has no business setting foot in this building."

Gin raised her hand. "Be that as it is, sir, he's still ...a brother! I can't have him bad mouthed or else I'm taking back the tickets and the wedding invitation previously given to the aformentioned Ministerness."

He chuckled. "Can't do that, Miss! Remember? I'm performing the event!"

"I can rethink that. Fleur's ordained, I hear."

"Well, she's a lot better looking, that's for sure…." The two friends laughed, made a few more pleasantries, and then bid adieu.

**XOXOXO**

In the months to follow and onwards, all three made their marks in their sections within the Department…in their own manner. On occasion, Ron would look with a wistful glint towards the Auror department, but after visiting Potter for the fifth or sixth time in his special reserved bed at St. Mungo's, he decided he was rather glad that his job wasn't quite so ... dangerous.

In addition, he also watched a frazzled Hermione, balancing being a barrister, a mother of five, and having an often temptious, gorgeous, and possessive wife...all while running her section, and decided he liked the spot where he was.

When his sister retired (against her will, after her third concussion) from the Harpies after a long and storied professional Quiddich career, he was able to feel genuine and proud of her. He confessed he too would be retiring soon, and traveling to see the world, a bit. Gin smiled a knowing smile, at his confession.

Never once did she tell Ron - or another soul-about her "involvement" in his career, and Ron was none the wiser.

_Thank Merlin that Minister Shacklebolt loved Quiddich!_ She thought to herself. And, once again, like she had those long months ago, Ginerva W. Potter decided that a_ few_ white lies wouldn't amount to much in the big picture.

She figured in the end, it was par for the course, in that Department.

**THE END.**


	5. QLFC: Preservation

**Author**: Ladyfun

**Title: Preservation**

**Pairing**: Lily/James

**Rating:** Generally K+

**Disclaimers:** All of this (Ladyfun gesturing big wide circles over the computer with her hand) belongs to J.K. Rowling. I own nothing, and this is all for non-profit fun. And I sure as heck don't own Quiddich.

**SUMMARY:** For the Quiddich League Fanfiction competition/Round 9. She has a need that recurs, once a year…every year. James indulges her, heartbreaking as it may be for them both.

**A/N #1:** Written for Round 9 /Season 2 of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. Position is "reserve" for Chaser 3 for the Wigtown Wanderers. Prompt: Focus on a necessity for your character/pairing (Lily Evans)

**A/N #2**: Optional prompts used (setting) Godric's Hollow; (word) Present; (quote) "The secret of happiness is not doing what one loves, but loving what one does" – J.M. Barrie

**Random technicality: I can't post new fanfics, it would appear, so I am posting it as chapter 2 of Second Chances. This is UNRELATED story content to Second Chances.**

* * *

Title: Preservation  
Round 9/Captain Love  
Position: Sub for Chaser 3- Prompt: Lilly Potter  
Team: Wigtown Wanderers

* * *

She has a need that recurs, annually.

On All Hallows Eve, she and James prepare themselves as best they can, to visit Godric's Hallow. He puts on his trench, the one she hates because it has literally become threadbare in the elbow and he refuses to allow them to be patched. She puts on a soft cashmere dress and her warm downy coat; they bundle up and prepare for the_ almost always_ unusually cold evening that confronts them on this day. Usually before they depart, James will remind Lily how "bloody cold" the Western part of England is at this time of year, already.

She just smiles that warm smile of hers, and focuses it on James.

He pauses, momentarily.

It is the smile that can move mountains, the one that can make you believe _you can do anything_. He knows its coming, so he sighs, and buttons up his coat, resigned to the fact she will convince him to go, regardless of what he might counter with.

"Ready, dear?"

"Of course, James." She agrees, steadying herself on his arm.

The nausea-inducing suction was very distinct.

She hated apparition, back when she was alive; now, as a _dead _person (or "alive-challenged", as persons of her ilk preferred to call themselves), it is decidedly _even worse_. She and Remus speculated one day on why the once-a-year apparition was so grueling on the Potters; Remus surmised that it was because there was such an ornery distance to travel. One cannot actually measure in kilometers the long distance between observing the dead, and observing the living, after all.

Once they arrived, they smelled the familiar aroma of the graveyard in which they are buried. It looks the same today as it did in 1981.

James had to move mountains and rivers, practically, to get them this unusual travel pass that allowed them to return, once a year, to the Hollow. It was allowed only with the strict understanding that Lilly would not interact with the "alive" people, and never reveal herself. Godrick Hollow had been their first "newlywed" home, and it felt very comfortable to them both.

It was an accident when she first saw the golden trio, or at least, two thirds of them.

Seeing Harry and Hermione, and their obvious fatigue, it took everything in her to reveal herself. She rationalized, well, James and I showed ourselves to Harry, when he was younger, back in 1997.

"James!" She cried. "It's Harry!"

She watched, as that dreaded snake lured Harry away from that delightful bushy haired girl, Hermione, and he nearly died. James was better than she; he was more able to address his feelings. He grabbed her, and whispered, "This isn't the mirror, Lilly. They're not supposed to see us."

Lily just felt a mother's guilt, for "abandoning" her child, despite the fact she had nothing to do with that outcome. She didn't _voluntarily_ agree to be murdered; none of this was her doing. However, that did little to assuage her feelings when she saw Harry, each year, growing up.

Finally, one year, he brings a read headed girl, with him.

"Hey its one of the Weasleys', he's bringing round to meet us! Well, dead us, anyway..." James says, excited.

"Harry is dating a _boy_ Weasley?"

"No, goof! A girl Weasley!"

Lilly looked confused, back then."I didn't know that Arthur and Molly had a girl! Not that there would have been anything wrong with that, dating a boy, I mean..."

She regards the redhead that would soon become her daughter in law and have a distinguished professional Quiddich career, playing for the Harpies, until her 2nd concussion finally forced her to retire.

"Well. I guess she'll grow on me."

"What's the problem?" James asks.

"Red hair."

"What?" He laughs. "That's like, inverse discrimination, dear!"

"I just didn't want my grandchildren to have red hair, dear. That's all. It's a hard row to tow." She muses, knowingly.

He just laughs, kissing her. "Don't you know, red hair is the ingredient to concocting the _prettiest_ women of all?"

She blushes.

She is secretly glad it was one of the Weasley's; they have grandchildren coming out of their ears, practically! Let Molly gush over any of the other 10 billion grandkids - this way, she is more likely to have a more than willing other nana on the girl's side to giving her the babies! She hoped they might have three, somehow. She had always wanted three - it was never her own intention to have one.

She had long ago determined three children was the absoutle perfect number. One was lonely, and would present its own trouble. Having two might risk a relationship that could sour, like hers and Petunia's had; best, was three, she decided.

**XOXOXOXOXO**

Her need hasn't changed, as the years went on; if anything, it grew.

James had mastered patience for taking this grueling trip, once a year. This year, however, was extra-special for them both. This year, Harry and Ginerva bring an infant to the cemetery. Bald as a bowling ball with freckles and one tiny curl of red hair, they held up a chunky infant, giggling despite its location in a Graveyard, too young to be alarmed.

"Mum? Dad? I want you to meet someone, okay? This is Harry Potter, Junior!" He holds up the baby to the headstones.

Lily's heart swells that day, and the smile doesn't come off…even during apparition back, to the other side.

He thought it would be harder for her, to see the grandchild she couldn't participate with, being deceased. He knew he had recruited her, into the Order; he feels a little badly for that. "Any regrets, dear, besides the obvious?" James asks, as they walk hand in hand out of the cemetery.

As if she knows what he's thinking, she does "the smile." He feels better.

She says, quietly. "Well, it's like the saying goes, "_The secret of happiness is not doing what one loves, but loving what one does._" I wouldn't have had it any other way, James, even if it meant _preserving_ my life. We did something _important_, James! We didn't give up, when everyone else was."

Then she did it again...that infamous smile of hers.

**XOXOXOXOX**

It is this most recent trip, that really does her in.

She has met Harry Jr. and James the III; but little does she realize the delight that will come from her taking in her third grandchild, with the fire engine red head of hair that crowns her head.

It is the first _girl. _

"Mom, meet Lily Luna Potter, and say "hi" to her!"

Lily Sr. gasps, and Lily Jr. decides to take a nap, instead, shortly after passing gas.

Ginny leans over to whisper soothing to her husband, along the lines of, "Okay, you've shown them your hat trick. I hope they can rest in peace, now. "

Lily Sr. decides, in that moment, that she _very much_ likes this Weasley girl, after all.

She smiles.

**THE END.**


	6. QLFC: Second Chances

**Author: Ladyfun**

**Pairing: **HG-DM friends

**Rating**: Generally T

**Disclaimers:** All of this (Ladyfun gesturing big wide circles over the computer with her hand) belongs to J.K. Rowling. I own nothing, and this is all for non-profit fun.

**SUMMARY**: For the Quiddich Leauge Fanfic competition. What is Draco holding back from Hermione? Draco-Hermione friendship.

**A/N: **Written for Round 9 /Season 2 of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. Position is Beater 2 for the Wigtown Wanderers. Prompt: Riddle's Diary. Optional prompts used: (word) Possible; (emotion) Annoyed; (emotion) Lonely

* * *

**Round 9-Love for the Captain**

Title/Link: **Second Chances**

Team: **Wigtown Wanderers**

Position: **BEATER 2/ Draco Malfoy-Holding Back**

* * *

He remembers every detail about that event; every bloody, painful detail.

It was in their 5th year, and he was the star potions student; of course, it didn't hurt that Slytherins generally taught the class, and the classroom was in the dungeons, for Pete's sakes! Going into finals, he was neck in neck with Her-_Whine_-ony Granger, the Goody-Two-Shoes Gryffindor mudblood; and if it weren't bad enough that Zabinini and Pans were giving him grief, well, it extended to his family as well.

A mother-son lunch had "been arranged," during his Hogsmeade weekend.

"You're not going to let that mud-_muggleborn_, best you, dear? It would be rather embarrassing for your father, Draco. If at all possible, you need to find a way to end up on top." His mother cautioned.

"I know, Mother!" He said, annoyed.

_Really?_ He thought to himself. _Grown up wizards had nothing better to do than worry about the marks of a few children?_

Elegantly daubing her mouth with her linen napkin, She lowered her voice, so that only he could hear. "Draco," She hissed."It makes it very challenging for your father, if a case is being made that certain classes of citizens are sub-optimal, shall we say, and one of those in question bests his own pure-blood son!"

"She's bested a lot of people's pureblood sons, and daughters!" He groused.

"That's just it, don't you see? If you can put her in her place, so to speak, it would do much to help Lucius regain favored status..."

Draco fought the urge to roll his eyes, because really, what good would that do? This conversation had been predestined, and it was irrelevant, he knew, as to what his opinion might actually offer.

The simple truth was, Hermione was a machine. A lean, mean, studying machine. She was a human encyclopedia, spitting out facts and answers left an right; she would wear you down with her persistence. He was not, nor would he ever be.

But...he was good at potions; he was proud of that. He grew nervous when he heard his mom day she and Mrs. Zabini and Mr. Parkinson had "brainstormed" a few ideas. But instead, he smiled wanly and he promised his mom he would "take care of the problem."

**XOXOXOXOXOXO**

"Zabaini? Pans? What is _that_?"

They stood before him, breathless, in the Room of Requirement where they demanded he meet them. "What does it look like, Malfoy? Its one of the final potions for end of the year marks!"

Draco grew even more annoyed, if that was possible. "Merlin's beard, you arse! I _know_ that's what it is! I mean, what is it that _you_ are doing with it?" He demanded.

The dark haired Slytherin boy had a malevolent grin, and looked at his partner in crime, Pansy Parkinson. Sounding as though it was Christmas morning, he blurted out, "It's Hermione Granger's final potion, that was supposed to sit in the warm bath for 24 hours!"

"Wow, its really a deep purple..." He commend, realizing his had not come close to even that hue. With that he felt a hard whack! on his arm. "Hey!"

"Quit being such a git!" Pansy's annoyed voice broke out. " We got it for you, now, you know what to do, Malfoy." Her voice reeked with malevolence. "The jinx is only going to last another 20 minutes on that stupid proctor, watching the lab, so you have to move fast!"

"Why don't you two do it? You got the damn thing!"

Blase rolled his eyes. "Because we're not your house-elves, Malfoy! We got it for you, excuse us for thinking you had to do a little damn work to get your 1st in class award in potions! _You_ sabotage it, and return it to the lab, yourself!"

So this is what his mother meant, in terms of "help," Draco thought, ironically. Purebloods, turned terrorist. Turned common thieves! All to prove that muggleborns are "stealing" true wizards' magic. How ironic.

"Oh. Ok-Okay." He said, taking the beaker from them and the bubbling caldron. He collected his expression. "I know exactly what to add to this! Should blow up, right in the mudbloods face, actually!"

"Wicked!" Zabinini said with a grin. "Alright mate, leaving you to it. C'mon, pans!"

They headed out of the room, but Pansy lingered, momentarily. She regarded the lonely boy who used to be her best friend. She felt bad for all the pressure everyone was putting on him...for one hot second. Deciding sympathetic gestures were best left to the weak and the Gryffindors, she left, uttering one parting salvo over her shoulder in parting: "_Twenty minutes_, Draco! And we're not taking the fall for you, got it?"

"No worries, I just need to mix up a few things here, before I go!" He said, authoritatively, in response. "Room of Requirement, I need a Potions laboratory!"

As the room changed, his friends wished him a good luck, and the door shut.

Draco hit his head on the table, saying "Shit, shit, shit!" Over and over.

**XOXOXOXOXOXO**

Dobby was tugging, frantically, on her arm. "Miss Hermione! You need to come with Dobby, now! _Alone!"_ His eyes were big and worried.

"Oh, okay?" Hermione said, from her secret corner of the library. "Should we tell Harry and Ron-"

"No!" Screeched Dobby. "Ms. Hermione must come...alone."

And he took her arm, and used elfin magic to transport her via apparition her to the room of requirement. Hermione walked off his arm, and he was gone. The blinked her eyes, the room dark. As her vision accommodated, she realized this was probably a very bad idea. She jumped, startled, realizing she wasn't alone, as a sole voice spoke.

Recognizing the voice, she confirmed that it was absolutely a bad idea.

Draco, looking haggard and years older than his actual chronological age, stepped out from behind a potions bench. "Granger." He said, dully.

"Malfoy." She replied, neutrally.

"I..." he trailed off, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Oh, Merlin's beard, this is such a colossally bad idea!" He growled, to himself.

"Hopefully that covers taking me hostage, imperiousing me, setting fire to my hair-"

"Stop!" He said, angrily. "I should be planning those things, and thinking that way, honestly! I don't know what the hell has come over me, lately. I..."

Hermione's eyes darted around the Room of Requirement, noting its appearance, and nodding, impressed. "I have to admit...I am well, surprised at your resourcefulness, Malfoy! I should have thought of using this, instead of begging Professor Snape for after hours passes."

He shrugged. "Well, it doesn't have all the rare ingredients for potions class, the advanced stuff. That's off limits, without a certified handler, like Snape."

She switched topics. "How'd you get Dobby to come get me, Malfoy? Did you threaten him?" She said, warily.

He felt his ire rise at her words._ Honestly, she made it so easy for people to despise her, really!_ He thought to himself. He watched as her eyes narrowed, as though she saw his thoughts. He quickly threw up his walls that were inadvertently down from fatigue.

"You despise me, because I don't want to see a creature abused, Malfoy? That's the problem with you pureblo-"

He cut her off. "No, that's not why, but way to show your predjuices, Golden Girl! You_ just assumed_ I did something vile, when in fact, I merely asked him if he had time to help."

Hermione looked at him, incredulously. "Help? With what?"

He lived up the cauldron, shaped as a flask in his hand. "With this."

She looked around, nervously. "Uh, is that mine, Draco?"

"yes."

"Why do you have it, as opposed to the water bath it was assigned to in Snape's classroom?" She asked, calmly .

"I...uh..." his head fell.

Hermione calmly sat down at the bench, no malice or anger in her face, whatsoever. Hermione wasn't just book smart, anymore; these past few years with the Order had taught her to read people. And from what she could intuit, Draco was on the precipice of disaster, and her losing it wouldn't help him with this turmoil he was dealing with.

Instead, she spelled two butter beers, and some cheese, apples, and crackers on a plate. "Here," she offered the sullen boy. "I promise not to lick your glass, so you won't get muggleborn cooties." She grinned, which he returned, weakly.

_He looks like he hasn't eaten in days_, she observed.

"How did you get it such a deep purple?" He finally asked, after woofing down some food, and taking a long drink of the butter beer.

The brightest witch of her age gave a tiny shrug. "Eh, I used real ginger, instead of dried ginger or ginger paste."

"Wow, that's ..." His eyes went wide, realizing the genus of such a simple move. "...Wow." He stuffed four more crackers in his mouth, and polished off the last of his butter beer.

Hermione looked at him. "Who put you up to this, Malfoy?"

"Who didn't?" He sighed. "Everyone!"

The Golden Girl sighed. "_Harry_ didn't, for one! _Ron_ didn't, for another! Dean Thomas... Luna Lovegood... shall I go on?"

"What's your point? Everyone besides the Gryffindorks."

"The term 'Everyone' is a very strict assumption, Malfoy! More importantly, why are you giving it back...intact? I read your mind. It's clean...you didn't do anything to it. Other than not having an even warming milieu for the last hour, it's fine. What gives?"

He was standing up, looking outside the window to determine if they were being watched. Reassuring himself they weren't, he spoke in a low tone. "Because _when I beat_ you in potions, it will be because **I** beat you, not some trumped up crap by hooligans to stack the deck for my crazy parents and their-" He stopped abruptly, realizing he said too much.

Hermione looked shocked. Quietly, she spelled summer sausage with the cheese and crackers, and they munched in silence, for awhile.

"She's not always like this, you know."

"Who?" Hermione said, her mouth full. "Um, excuse me."

He nodded. "My mother."

Hermione didn't rub it in, she didn't call him a filthy Death Eater or any such like insults towards his mother. Surprisingly, he didn't rush to leave once the potion was handed over, either. They had moved on to summer sausage and the second round of butter beer, instead. A small miracle happened, that night; he started talking to her, honestly, as long as she swore on Harry's life not to tell anyone nor try to "convert" him to the light. It was such a relief, as he told her of the inordinate pressure that was being put on him to be perfect and not let the "mudblood" beat him. The fear everyone had, these days; the loss of any happiness, truly.

"Blimey, Malfoy!" Hermione said, after herring about his third_ crucio_ at the hands of "well-meaning" teachers. "I used to feel sorry for myself that my parents didn't understand the wizarding world, and have magic; now I think I got it all wrong. Perhaps its worse if they do!" She shook her head.

He looked at her. "How is that any different than muggle's spanking their kids? That's even more inhumane!"

"Newsflash, Malfoy: they don't all do that."

"They don't?"

"Nope."

"Yours didn't?" He looked at her, in disbelief, as she shook her head, no.

"You know what, Malfoy? I do know lots of wizard families, and _very few_ that I know of, have used the_ Crutaciaus _curse on their own children! I would estimate... like less than 3 percent." She guessed.

Draco felt a surge of emotion - angry, hurt, lonely; but one thing he wouldn't tolerate, was this subtle jab at his family by the _mud_\- muggleborn. He retorted, furiously, "That's because you know blood traders! And half breeds! And -"

Hermione remained calm, raising her hand. "Cool it, with the propaganda, Malfoy! Look," she pointed between them, "Here in the faux Potions room, its just you, me, and this one last lonely piece of summer sausage! _No one_ cares. Furthermore, of the pureblood families, the 97% that _aren't_ crucio'ing their kids, I guarantee have their own problems, in some other way."

He stuffed it in his mouth, chewing, angrily.

"It's just not cursing their children. So, then, Beetle the Bard... instead of internally combusting, how about we think of a solution to the Potions conundrum?"

"What potions conundrum?" He said, not understanding.

She rolled his eyes. "You really should get some sleep, and not stay up all night raping and pillaging..." she said.

"I ... I don't rape." He replied, stilted, but unmistakably good-natured. "Just pillage."

"Oh! Okay. In that case, may I offer a solution?"

"I don't understand the problem!" He said, frustrated.

She rolled her eyes, now realizing that the ignoramus gene was squarely located on the Y chromosome and not a phenonomon unique to Harry and Ron. "Draco Malfoy! Your friends are expecting a fireworks display tomorrow in lab- what will they say if that doesn't happen? That you held back, you went soft! they'll call you a coward!"

"But that's what I_ did_ do, Granger...that's what I am." He said glumly.

"_No_!" She said with such firmness it startled them both. "Do you know what it took to_ hold back_ on vandalizing this potion? It took such courage and character, Draco! This might have been the bravest thing I've seen any student do all year...this year!" She was getting revved up, speaking with such passion. _Weak_ people destroy the competition; strong people build them up...so they can have a worthy advisary!"

He felt a long forgotten feeling, bubble up to the surface, in himself. Pride.

"So, I propose this: You_ keep_ my potion. Tell them you swapped yours and mine, because mine was better. Thus, you expect to mark the higher score over me. I will look appropriate shocked, if necessary. That's better than doing something rather drastic like _having it explode_, which would have the teachers all over it before you could say_ Bellatrix Lestrange is Deranged, _5 times fast_!_"

He gave her a warning look.

She grinned. "Okay, sorry! No politics. But she is deranged..."

"On that, I don't disagree." He said. He looked reflective. "_You'd do that_, Hermione? Turn in the lesser potion?"

She looked at him thoughtful. "Well...not exactly. I said I'd let you turn in mine."

"I don't follow..."

"Well, when I pre-read the lab, and saw we had a step involving a 24 hr water bath incubation, I knew what that could mean. It would be fraught with possible...comprimise."

He nodded.

She looked back at him, with a grin. "What makes you think...I only brewed one, Draco?"

He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head in disbelief. She was so out of his league, it wasn't even funny. He opened his eyes as a soft hand cupped his cheek.

"And that, people, is why our side is going to win, Mr. Malfoy!" She said, matter of factly as she removed her hand, and left the room. "Try to get some sleep, would you?"

He nodded, as he watched her leave.

**XOXOXOXOXOXO**

Things had only gotten more strained in the world, as the end of the year came to a close. Despite the unrest, as Draco was packing his things into his green steamer trunk, he couldn't help but to feel a little happiness and a little dazed that things had shook out the way they did, academically.

_He had tied for first_, with Hermione "Brainiac" Granger, in Potions!

All because he scored 1 point better than she did on the last final of the class. One piddly point! As he turned to go, a small owl pecked at his window with an envelope that was marked "confidential - Mr. Draco Malfoy, eyes only" on it.

Curious, he ripped open the envelope, stunned to find Hermione Granger's potion final in it.

He scanned it, and saw the point that she missed on the exam. His stomach sank:

_"True or false: to optimize the Leveatavious potion, one should use fresh ginger. _

Hermione had answered false. False! She did this on purpose! She had thrown her final, by one point, in order to enable the tie. All of a sudden, the test evaporated and a small note was left in his hand:

* * *

As you can see, I held back, this time. So now we're even, and can go into whatever the future holds in debt to no one, if you follow my meaning. You held back, I held back. Even steven. Although I hope that someday, on the other side, we could maybe have another butter beer again. Good luck, secret Lion. I promise to never tell anyone how brave you really are. -H

* * *

**-FIN.**


	7. QLFC: Three Memorable Life Lessons

Written for Round 1 /Season 2 of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. Draco has learned many things over the years from his infamous Aunt Bella; everything ranging from "stay alert, stay alive" to "don't judge a book by it's cover." Three life lessons stick out in his mind, however. Bellamione.

**A/N #1:** Written for Round 1 /Season 2 of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. Optional prompts used: (word) stubborn(ess); (quote) "Every family has bad memories." Mario Puzo.

**A/N #2**: Okay, this is my inaugural run with this dealio. Hopefully no deaths will ensue. I don't think I've ever written a "T" level fic, but what the hell….there's a first time for everything!

**Round 1 - Family Roles**

Title/Link: **The** **Three Memorable Life Lessons**

Team: **Wigtown Wanderers  
**Position: **BEATER 2:  
**Prompt: family role: niece/nephew

**XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX**

There were _three memorable life lessons_ he had learned from his infamous Aunt.

He was fourteen when he experienced the first one, taught to him the hard way. He remembered vividly; he was getting ready to dive into his birthday cake, when it unexpectedly exploded, sending shards of hard icing into his face, arms, and chest. The table caught fire, and he remembered bleeding…nearly everywhere.

He embarrassed himself by being scared and crying from the unexpected shock. He immediately hexed Crabbe who dared to laugh at him. His father was equally disgusted with him _as well as_ the insane dark witch who cursed the birthday cake in the first place.

He grabbed him by his elbow, yanking him up off the floor. "Men do not cry, Draco!" His father said, with a sneer.

"**Lucius!"** His mother urged. "He's hurt!"

"This? It's nothing!" He raged, looking as though he wanted to slap the both of them.

With a stern look that silenced even her bellowing husband, Narcissa Malfoy ushered Draco out of the Dining Hall, and upstairs to address his injuries, in private. The evil cackle hollered out from his Aunt Bellatrix in their wake caused the teen to cringe. As the two trudged up the stairs, he heard the distinctive voice of his Aunt Bellatrix reverberating throughout the Manor.

_"Awww….icky wicky baby Draco can't handle a little surprise?" _Bella said, voice dripping with malevolence. She was shouted up towards the pair upstairs. "_How the hell_ is he going to serve our Master, if he is such a damn liability, Cissy? You're not helping!"

His pride was hurt more than anything, and his mother sighed as she cleaned the blood off his robes. "She used to be so amazing, Draco. I'm sorry…I'm sorry that this is your Aunt, now. Azkaban Prison did things to her…awful things. She's _not right_, dear."

"_Not right?" _He looked incredulous_._ "Bloody hell, Mother, my Aunt is _mental_!"

Narcissa looked sad. "She _didn't used to be_, Draco. When I was a little girl, she was my hero." His mother sighed. "But that person is gone…and all that's left is this crazy servant to the Dark Lord, I suppose. A shell of what she used to be. You know, a man name Mario Puzo once said, 'Every family has bad memories,' and well, I suppose your Aunt is destined to be** your** 'bad memory', Draco…"

He nodded his agreement.

Later that night, as he walked down the hall towards his room, he felt his arm jerk, and he was pulled into the shadows.

"_What the-?"_ He said, startled.

**"Shh**!" The beautiful dark witch admonished, hand clasped firmly over his mouth.

He was face to face with _evil incarnate_, his body pressed against his _insane Aunt_, held captive. He did his best not to be afraid. He steeled his nerves to look her in the eyes, and not be a coward; but the truth was_, she scared him._

She scared _a lot of people_, actually.

As Draco looked up, into his Aunt's brown eyes, he furrowed his brow, regarding Bella. Looking back at him carefully was a woman clearly in possession of her faculties.

A woman clearly_ not_ insane.

In an unnervingly calm tone, she asked him, "Okay, Draco. After Action Review time. _What did you learn_, today?"

"Um…not to invite you to any more birthday parties?"

She huffed. "Draco! _This is serious!_ Dark times are upon us…paying attention to your surroundings just might save your damn spoiled ass, one of these days. " She sniffed, with slight disdain. "You, sir, most definitely did** not** pay attention."

He forced his expression to become more serious, and he let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "I guess_…I guess_ I learned today that I should survey my surroundings, and not get too comfortable. Expect the unexpected, when you least expect it."

_"Yes._ What else?"

He thought about it for a moment. "I learned that Crabbe is a fucking git!"

She rolled her eyes. "We knew that, already, boy wonder. The lesson is one , however, regarding a point about relationships."

He shook his head, unsure.

She pinched the bridge of her nose. "I'm not going to _spoon feed_ you the rest of your life, Draco. One day I won't be around! However, because I am tired, I will indulge you this one time. The lesson is this: In a time of crisis, who will you rely on? The answer is_…not your father_!"

Draco's expression was hard, recalling his father's shaming words in front of everyone, and his lack of concern for his own son's safety.

He answered his aunt, an edge to his voice. "_I learned that_ if I have to chose to save only one parent, my choice would be my mother."

"Good answer, boy." Bella nodded. "_Remember that_," she said, mysteriously. Giving him an almost tender kiss on his temple, his Aunt vanished down the hallway to her own bedroom, leaving Draco feeling a muddle of different emotions all on that one night.

**XOXOXOXOXOXOX**

The second memorable life lesson was almost a full year later, when the Dark Lord had commanded him to assassinate the Headmaster of Hogwarts School, his headmaster….. Albus Dumbledore.

As to not betray their position and intentions, Voldemort had his _most trusted lieutenant_, who also happened to be Draco's Aunt, teach the young Death Eater Legilimency and Occlumency. His mind had to be closed, or else it would betray the Dark Lord's plans.

Draco had known that his fierce aunt was an incredibly skilled legilimens; but he would learn during their sessions how gifted she truly was. When they first started, she could always detect if he was lying. She would help herself, perusing into his mind and delving into his thoughts, emotions, and memories. She chuckled endlessly at the memory of Hermione slugging him in the face their third year, much to his unhappiness.

A few weeks later, it was his turn.

He entered her mind, and deliberately distracted her by having the house elves make a racket with the pots and pans at the same time; it was the only time he saw anything of value. Briefly, he saw his Aunt, sitting next to …what the? Next to Hermione Granger? The mudblood school mate of Draco Malfoy's? They were sitting In some dingy house, next to the disowned Sirius Black, and McGonnigall, and Kingsley Shacklebolt!

He wasn't sure, but he thought he saw his Aunt actually_ touching_ the mudblood's hand! As though she was, well, holding it! _Holding Granger's hand!_

Just as quickly, he felt himself being ripped out of her mind, and she looked livid!

"Not bad, Draco. Nice stunt there, with the distraction. "

"Thank you." He said, shaky. "Um, Aunt Bella? In….in your mind, I could have sworn I saw something…."

"You did? " She said, nonchalantly. "_What?_ Say, something to the effect of me, Bellatrix Lestrange, seated amongst Order members, at Grimmauld Place?"

"Y-y-yes." He stammered, nervously.

"Almost as though I were a ….oh, I don't know, a double agent, or something?"

They looked at each other, clearly at an impasse.

"_You did,_ in fact, _see that."_ She nodded.

**_"What?"_** He said, his eyes going wide, with disbelief. "But…_but_….."

She chuckled. "Stammering like a frightened little boy, Draco…tut tut." Pulling out her wand, she continued talking, but didn't meet his gaze. "So, I will explain it thusly…love can beat even _the most stubborn heart _into submission. I_t's a curious thing_, dear nephew, this thing called love."

He remained silent, sweating.

She regarded him carefully. "Draco, you have excelled at your lessons. Not even_ Voldemort himself_ has been able to see what you just did. Bravo! I commend you…really! Nephew, I'm very impressed. You're excellent."

"Thank you…do you really think so?"

"Yes, really!" She sighed. "Too bad you won't remember it."

She looked up, finally, at her frightened nephew as she murmured a solitary word causing a flash of light to leap from her dragon heartstring wand directly to the stunned face of her nephew, hitting him squarely on his forehead.

**_"Obliviate."_**

**_XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXXO_**

The third and final memorable life lesson was almost five years later, long after the fall of you know who.

He had taken his Aunt's word to heart; and in the end, he saved his mother, and even stinkin' Harry Potter! He blocked a hex from hitting the chosen one. As fate would have it, in the end, he fought alongside the stupid Gryffindors, at the Battle of Hogwarts.

And now, here he was, five years later….standing next to_ stinkin' Harry Potter,_ **yet again**, as they fulfilled their very important tasks. They were assigned the job of escorting two_ beautiful women_ down their respective sides of the aisle, turning them over to each other at the end.

It was a ceremony like none other, that was for sure.

Draco kissed his Aunt on the cheek, whispering in her ear. "You look gorgeous, Aunt Bella, even if you _are_ inappropriately older than that witch across the aisle from you!"

"Cheeky!" She growled, as she leaned in to hug him.

_"I'm so proud of you,_ Aunt Bella. I wish all the happiness in the world for you and Hermione."

"Thank you, Draco." She whispered, eyes misty. "You know, I love you, kid...right?"

"That I do. Ditto."

True, it was an unconventional marriage; his aunt was nearly 28 years older than Hermione Jean Granger, the famous muggle-born witch. Whenever anyone would bring it up, Draco would remind the objecting party that his Aunt was _extremely immature_, and Granger was remarkably level-headed…so it worked out, in the end. Then he would leave, laughing, while the contrarian attempted to understand his logic.

Draco had grown to adore his strange and troubled aunt. The former Death Eater nee double agent for the Order had taught him the most important lesson of all: _love makes all things possible_. It was, as she had mentioned to him long ago, _a curious thing. _

His aunt's love had saved him from becoming like his father; and his aunt's own unexpected love, saved _herself_ from an even less palatable future.

Draco initially would have told you it was a totally improbable prospect. Really, what was the likelihood of the two most _stubborn women he had ever met in his life_ finding their way to each other? Impossible! Yet, here she was, his stubborn, brave, defiant, and gorgeous oldest aunt; the larger-than-life figure was_ willingly_ handing over her heart to the "brightest witch of her era." Hermoine "Mudblood" Granger.

Granger. _Soon to be Black._ _Either way, the name was irrelevant,_ Draco realized.

Whatever her name,_ that person_ was the young woman responsible for putting his aunt on the _right side_ of history.

_Curious life lessons, indeed! _Draco thought to himself, looking back and forth between his Aunt, with her uncharacteristic lopsided grin, and the unadulterated joy beaming directly from the Golden Girl Gryffindor who was waiting, patiently, for the Dark Witch at the end of the aisle. They both looked ready to combust, eyes so full of love for each other. He felt his Aunt's hand tremble.

With a final reassuring squeeze, he passed his Aunt's hand over to the other, and he smiled.

**_FIN._**

**_XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXXOX_**


	8. QLFC: Tommelise Granger

**Author**: Ladyfun

**Title: Tommelise Granger**

**Pairing**: Hermione and a cast of characters. Endgame: Fleurmione!

**Rating:** Generally K+

**Disclaimers:** All of this (Ladyfun gesturing big wide circles over the computer with her hand) belongs to J.K. Rowling. I own nothing, and this is all for non-profit fun. And I sure as heck don't own Quiddich, nor Hans Christen Anderson. And I'm sorry but WTF? Thumbelina? Obscure, party of one, your table is ready. Over by the year 503 AD.

**SUMMARY:** For the Quiddich League Fanfiction competition/Round 12, yee haw. Hermione navigates a myriad of potential suitors and obsticles before she can overcome herself, her world, and her perceived limitations, in order to get to "her one." Endgame: Fleurmione. Based on the fairy tale, Thumbelina.

**A/N #1:** Written for Round 12 /Season 2 of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition.

**A/N #2**: OPTIONAL PROMPTS: 1. (word) underhanded 2. (word) Bleeding

**Random technicality: I can't post new fanfics, it would appear, so I am posting it in another spot in one of the old stories. Sorry if there's confusion.**

* * *

**Title: Tommelise Granger  
**Round 12 / Fairytale Dabbling  
Position: Beater 2- Prompt: Thumbelina  
Team: Wigtown Wanderers

* * *

"What's this?" Tommelise uttered, a mysterious large package arriving wrapped in the finest golden paper arriving to her stoop by owl. "Who sent this?" she asked the owl, but it was too late. He had already departed. She regarded it closely. It was a rather ornate bouquet of white lilies, with a French coat of arms embossed in the ribbon. The card inside was embroidered, and out fell a parchment. The parchment, written with elegant looping script, read a most curious note:

_Mon Avenir Princesse,_  
_Do not Despair, Mon tresor! The time is coming when we can be together; know that my heart swells, each day we are apart, for you; I am bleeding, sanguine….until that fateful day we can be reunited. Please wait for me._  
_XO_  
_Your Flower._

Tommelise thought no more about it, after a few days, as is the way of most 14-going-on-15 year olds are want to do; only adults really overanalyze, and would have thought it strange.

As it was, she had bigger things on her mind than a strange admirer. She had to prepare for another year-her fourth-at that wonderful school, filled with some really nasty individuals. It was bad enough that that insane pureblood fanatic's ideas were starting to gain favor again, it was worse still that some of the old prejudices were showing their heads and trickling down to the children of these fanatics.

No creature was safe, really, and certainly not the tiniest of fairies, such as herself.

Drastic times call for drastic measures. She decided to stop using the first name, Tommelise, of her fairy ancestors. She decided instead to use the name of her muggle grandmother, Hermione, when the school year resumed. She swallowed, hard, wondering if that would make it better, or worse. She had owled her mentor, Professor McGonagall, who soundly agreed with her decision, a little too enthusiastically. Hermione realized that it would not sit well with the pureblood families that the number one student in Hogwarts was a creature; somehow, being discriminated against as a mudblood was slightly better.

A least mudbloods were classified as_ humans_…for now.

Suddenly, the idyllic summer was over, and it was with a certain amount of dread that Hermione, nee Tomnliese, set off for her 4th school year, new books and crisp parchment in hand. Her father was stoic, as becoming a dentist, but her mother was the one with fairy blood and couldn't hide her emotions as well. Her mother kissed her goodbye with a sad look on her face, and Hermione tried to shake it off.

"What, Mom?"

"Nothing, Tommelise. It's just that…you shouldn't be ashamed of who you are."

"I'm _not_ ashamed, Mother." Hermione said, frustrated.

"Someday you will be grateful for your fairy lineage, Tommelise, I promise."

"I'm proud now, Mom! There's a difference between being _safe_ and being _proud_. Pride is a luxury we can afford in less vulnerable times, mother."

The fairy shook her head. "No, Tommelise, in unsafe times, pride may be the_ only_ thing we have."

Wrestling with her guilt, she huffed, and headed off to platform 9 ¾ , hoping to make the train with the lead balloon that had settled into her heart. That, plus the feeling of foreboding approaching the school year left her in quite a melancholy mood, indeed.

**XOXOXO**

At the platform, she was met by Harry and the Weasleys, as per their standard operating procedure in their many years together.

She felt a sharp pinch in her side.

**"Ow!** Merlin's Beard, Molly…did you just pinch me?"

"I did." She hissed. "Listen, Hermione, these are uncertain times..." her eyes darted back and forth, between the platform and the various eyes on them. "I've lived through wars, Hermione! One thing I know is this: people don't always come back the same."

"No, I suppose they don't, Molly."

"For these reasons, I think that its necessary to... how shall we phrase this? _Lock in a few details_, as it were." Molly's eyes were looking a tad wild, when Hermione scrutinized them closely. Her behavior was odd, indeed. She shuffled around, foot to foot.

Hermione looked at her, concerned. "Well, um...what sort of details?"

"Grandbabies, Hermione, of course! Grandbabies!"

Hermione felt a tightening in the pit of her stomach. "Grandbabies...I see. And what does that have to do with me, exactly, Molly?"

Molly Weasley looked conspiratorial. "Well, if we wait for little Toadie to do this, we'll be waiting a long time, now won't we?" She was, of course, referring to her youngest son, Ronald Weasley, affectionately known as "Toad" to his family.

Hermione sighed. "Molly, we've been through this! I adore Ron, I really do..." Hermione said, firmly. "...But, I adore him as a brother and nothing more."

"Hermione, you're not getting any younger!"

"Molly," the Hogwarts student began, incredulously. _"I'm not even of age_, yet!"

They stood there, locked in heated exchange, when someone recognized her distress and decided to save her. Her dearest Friend in the whole school, perhaps the whole world, recognized her discomfort, and swooped in like a bird to rescue her.

"Hermione! Come now! We're going to be last and not get any good seats! Hurry up!" He smiled an apologetic grin to Molly. "Sorry, Mrs. Weasley, we have to go!"

God Love Harry Potter, sometimes….

XOXOXOXOXO

The train ride had been uneventful, the Golden Trio filling each other in on all their summer fun. Toadie Weasley seemed annoyed that some secret admirer had sent Hermione flowers; to which she promptly ignored. They filled up on chocolate frogs and speculated what the Triwizarding Tournament would bring to their year. Both Harry and Ron grumbled for a solid ten minutes about the loss of the Quiddich field; and Hermione filled them in on the detailed reading she had done about the history of the two competing schools, Beauxbatons Acadmey of Magic and The Drumstrung Institute.

"Many dark wizards have graduated from Drumstrung," Hermione mused. "I expect some seriously underhanded behavior from them."

Once they arrived to their school, it was wonderful to be within the Gryffindor fold once again; however, she would be lying if she said she missed her schoolmates from Slytheryn one little bitty bit. Worst among them was the dreadful Pansy Parkinson; that girl just seemed to have it out for her, constantly!

Everywhere she turned, Pansy would somehow just...be there, already. She would loudly make commentary about whatever Hermione was wearing, her teeth, her face, her hair...there was nothing that escaped her commentary, it seemed. Hermione would simply ignore the rude girl and walk past, but it got to her friends. Six days into the school year, Ginny Weasley finally snapped.

"Hey!" Ginny yelled at the malevolent Slytherin girl, leaned up against the post with her two lackeys. "Tweedle Beetle Parkinson! You spend so much friggin' time noticing every single detail about Hermione...why is that?"

"Because she's an offense to witches everywhere, charity case! What's it to you?"

But Ginny was the epitome of a Gryffindor, and despite Hermione's blush next to her and admonishment to hush, Ginny bowed up to the older Slytherin. "Oh really? That's why you've memorized her schedule, Parkinson? Why you stare at her in the Great Hall? Be a little more obvious, why don't 'cha, Tweedle Beetle?"

The dark haired witch clenched her jaw. "What are you _implying_?"

"I'm not implying anything!" Ginny laughed. "I'm stating the obvious, Parkinson! You have a crush on Hermione Granger! Any idiot can see it...daft."

Hermione put a warning hand on Ginny's arm, as to indicate to Ginny she was out of line. She nervously looked up at Pansy, who had the oddest angry look she had ever seen on one face. The bobbed Slytherin finally managed to string together a cataleptic sentence.

"_Wha_-what? You've gone nutters, Weasley! Like I would _ever_ have a crush on a girl...much less an ugly, buck toothed, know-it-all, crazy haired mudblood like Granger!" She huffed. "Get real!"

Hermione felt the stinging of tears come to her eyes as Harry gently pulled away both Ginny and Hermione. "C'mon, let's go. We're going to be late for Charms." He urged.

Once out of earshot of the laughing Slytherins, Harry said gently, "You know all that horseshit was just that, right, Hermione? Horseshit!"

"It still hurts, Harry." Hermione said, quietly.

"Well, I think that there was clearly someone this summer who didn't think that you were ugly, right? Your rose bush -"

"_Flower_." Corrected Hermione.

"Flower. Right. Well, _Prince Flower..._or whomever, thinks you are something special, no matter what piggish Parkinson has to say."

"You're right." She said, smiling to herself. "You're right, Harry."

"I know! So, enough of the woah is me, defeatist attitude. Let's go to class, now, shall we?"

**XOXOXOXOXO**

The introduction of the schools was quite a sight.

The Dumstrung participants were everything a champions would be pictured as…virle, strong, and fearless. This was embodied best by the handsome Champion selected, Mr. Viktor Krum. Oddly enough, despite the fact the school did not admit muggleborn students, the Champion himself seemed to have taken quite a liking to the Hogwarts muggle known as Hermione Granger.

Mr. Igor Karkaroff, best known by his code name "the Field Mouse," from his days as a death eater—which he had since renounced, was curiously in favor of this paring.

"Zat girl," The former Field Mouse replied, "studies like nobodies busy-ness!" He proclaimed to all who would listen. "Eizer she is having an affair wiz ze librarian, or she iz truly ze smartest witch of 'er generazion." He surmised.

On one such occasion, Minerva replied dryly, "I would suggest the latter, Mr. Karkaroff." She said, without an ounce of mirth in her voice. "She is our star pupil."

Karkaroff was not shy about his hope that he could set the two up, and her studious habits would rub off on his Champion. You see, Krum was a valiant sort, a good guy, really; but he tended to go balls-to-the-wall "all out" without regards to the danger around him. While this tactic was great for Quiddich, it was not so great for the Triwizard tournament. This tourney, unlike Quiddich, often rewarded mental prowess as much as the gifts of the physique for the physical demands of the game.

It was actually Karkaroff who introduced the two, on a mandatory study hall on a Saturday. Hermione was polite enough, and his Champion appeared smitten. Unbeknownst to Hermione, the whole thing was a set up. Mr Quiddich wanted to squire Hermione to the Yule Ball, and he had coerced his headmaster, the Field Mouse, to arrange some type of an introduction.

He was used to women throwing themselves at him; he rarely had to engage in the pursuit, himself. He was at a loss for what to do.

**XOXOXOXOX**

It was the afternoon of the second task, and the four treasures had been recovered, albeit a tad waterlogged. Ron, Cho, Gabrielle, and Hermione were all towering off in the tent area, comparing notes and talking furiously.

From the corner of her eye, she noted the arrival of the three in green and silver. Malfoy, Parkinson, and Zabenini.  
"Great." She muttered, to herself.

She didn't have to worry long, before Ron dumped a cup of icy pumpkin juice, ice cubes and all, over Pansy's head for their unwelcome intrusion.

"Look, your kind isn't wanted, around here!"

"Awfully uppity, Weasley, for someone as poor as a churchmouse!" Draco sneered.

Ron was pointing at Pansy. "Ye Gods, you've just come to upset Hermione, and that's frankly, just bollocks! Why don't you git?" Ron muttered.

Pansy pushed him in the shoulder. "Why don't YOU git?" She said, warningly.

"_You_ git!" He pushed back. "She doesn't want you, Parkinson!"

Another retaliatory shove. "She doesn't want you either, Toadie Weasel!" Pansy shouted.

And the shoving match continued, each a bit harder than the one prior; Hermione blushed, and tried to duck out of the tent, unnoticed. It was there she crashed into her. Literally, crashed into her.

"_Ooof_!" Hermione exhaled, slightly pained in her left side. "I'm sorry, I didn't see where I was goin-" She stopped in mid sentence. The fourth year student had crashed, headfirst, into the Beauxbaton's champion, in her haste to escape the bickering inside the tent.

"Bonjour! Going somevere, belle?" The French goddess said, clearly amused.

"_Hoping_ to, yes."

"And zat place is…?" She arched one eyebrow.

"Someplace without... arguing lunatics!" She groused, after a moment to collect her thoughts. She then looked up, suddenly embarrassed. "Not that you're a lunatic, I mean."

But a rather understanding look adorned the face of the gorgeous French Veela. With an amused smirk, she added, "And are you ze cause of all zat bluster inside, mademoiselle?"

Hermione just groaned. "Well, Yes…no? I don't know?" Hermione grinned, sheepishly. She furrowed her brow as she confided in Fleur, "Frankly, I think they like to aruge just to hear themselves speak, sometimes!" She huffed.

"Zere iz a famous saying in my home country, zat "He who establishes his argument by noise and command shows that his reason is weak." Yet, I find myself intrigued, and wanting to know more, belle! I should like to meet ze object of adoration of such... passion, zen! " Said the woman in blue.

Hermione blushed, oddly intrigued by this clearly intelligent young lady.

"If I may, je m'appelle Fleur Delacour, from Beauxbaton Acadmey."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "As if everyone didn't already know who you are, Ms. Delacour!"

"Fleur, please."

"Okay…_Fleur._"

"Okay...'ermione." She said, rolling her tongue around, deliciously, savoring her name. As she did, Fleur cocked her eyebrow, playfully. "Does zis mean I will have to start dueling ze otzzers, now, to get your favor?"

Hermione groaned.

It was at that exact moment that one of Fleur's friends yelled for her, poking her head into the tent. "Fleur, maintenant! Madame Maxime est sur le pied de guerre ! Allons, si vous savez ce qui est bon pour vous!"

Fleur couldn't seem to pull her eyes away from the younger witch. "Well," she sighed. "I guess this is where I take my leave, Mademoiselle Granger."

"Yes…" Hermione's voice trailed off, relishing the way in which Fleur enunciated her name. It was so lyrical. "It was lovely to meet you Fleur!"

Fleur landed a dainty kiss on the side of Hermione's cheek. "Au revoir, beautiful lady." Fleur exhaled, and then she was gone. Hermione was at a loss as to why the air suddenly felt so dry and vacant.

**XOXOXOXOXO**

Toadie Weasley actually waited until the literal day before the Yule Ball to ask Hermione to be his date. Even Harry had to blush, ashamed, for his friend. "Give it up mate." He whispered.

"Why? It's not like Hermione has a date yet!" He reasoned.

"How do you know?" Ginny said, annoyed with her brother.

"Because!" Ron reasoned, as he shoveled another heaping spoon of mashed potatoes into his mouth just as fast as his arm could hoist it, "It's not like these arrogant assholes 'round here are lining up to squire a defective fairy who also happens to be a muggle born witch, as well!"

Harry and Ginny looked at each other incredulously.

Hermione looked up from her voluminous text she had snuck into the Great Hall. "Erm, folks...I am sitting, right here, you know."

"Yeah, but you're reading, 'Mione." Ron said. "Its not like you look or listen to the world around ya, when you're reading."

"I wonder why? After all, this is such a pleasant conversation, and all; disparaging my heritage."

Ron had the courtesy to look at least slightly embarrassed. "C'mon, you know I'm not sayin g that! I'm merely saying what those around us are thinking."

"Oh." Hermione said, curtly. "I see. Well then, I will leave you to continue tot cull the opinion of army a blod souls of this town." She gathered her things, and started to exit the breakfast table.

"So, 'Mione? How bout it?" Ron asked.

Hermione gave him a look as though he was the three headed dog, incarnate. "Ronald Weasley! That's unacceptable asking a lady a day before the social event! And secondly, for your information, I do actually have a date!"

"Really?" He said, sounding somewhat skeptical. "Who is it, then?"

"Viktor Crum." She said with a slight smile, heading out the hall and towards the library.

**XOXOXOXOXOXOX**

Viktor was indeed her date that evening, and she was absolutely resplendent. She drew the appreciative eye of even the most discerning guest, but it was the smoldering blue eyes of the Champion from France that caught her attention, most of the night.

Strangely, Fleur seemed to keep her distance, and it hurt Hermione's feelings, inexplicably. She caught Fleur, once, at the punch bowl; but the French Veela took great pains to scurry away.

"Wait, Fleur!" Begged Hermione.

And Fleur turned, with great effort, and gazed at Hermione with the most pained expression she had ever seen. Fleur exhaled, whispering, "Non, 'ermione. Not yet. You're too young, and I 'ave too little control...I'm sorry. Je suis desolee, ma belle."

And then she was gone into the crowd and the dimmed lights, absent from Hermione's sight the remainder of the evening. Hermione didn't have much time to reflect on the odd separation, as Viktor was literally on her, non stop.

Hermione had no real formal objection; after all, he was handsome, fearless, very kind to her, and clearly smitten. She allowed herself to be swept up into the whole moniker of "going steady," and there were certainly benefits to having a long distance boyfriend who was very, very busy. If she were to be honest with herself, however, she found herself on some nights wondering what it would feel like to have smooth, elegantly sculpted lips that would form a slight pout descend upon hers, instead of the rough ones of the Slavic young man who was her boyfriend.

But she would push those thoughts away, and try to be a good partner to Viktor, regardless of how little her heart really was interested in that objective.

**XOXXOXOXOXOXOX**

It was on her fateful trip to Shell Cottage, where the Golden Trio sought safe harbor, that she would once again be reunited with her ...what? Her mentor? No, Hermione sighed,_ not_ her mentor. Her childhood crush.

Fleur Delacour, soon to be Weasley, it was rumored.

The former Triwizard Champion had become even more beautiful, if that was at all possible. Molly had complained, often, about how stand-offish the blonde was at their family affairs. It was easy to judge someone so effortlessly gorgeous, Hermione guessed. Plus, the nature of her Veela heritage made it impossible for males to look away, and females to despise and be jealous in kind, as well.

Yet the muggle-born Fairy was neither; perhaps it was because she had been tortured within an inch of her life, and it took all her strength to simply recover, without the luxury of objectifying the world around her.

But Fleur tirelessly nursed her back to health, without a single complaint.

She refused to leave the English witch's side, and worked around the clock to heal the broken body and spirit. Miracleously, she did just that. And if she were telling the truth, Hermione would have acknowledged she fibbed a little, just to have a few more stolen hours of time with Fleur. Time that just the two of them would talk about anything and everything.

Hermione even confessed to Fleur her ancestry, and the jibes that she was a "defective fairy."

"Why on Eartz would you zay somezing so 'orrid, Belle?" Fleur reprimanded. "Calling yourself defective..."

"Because it's true, Fleur, that's why!" Hermione said, passionately. "I'm no kind of fairy...I've never even sprouted wings, much lest flown! Flight is the staple of my people, Fleur!"

Fleur tutted. "Ze time has not been right for you yet, my pretty one." She said, cupping Hermione's face, gently. "It will come...I'm sure of it."

Leaning into her touch, she suddenly felt better.

**XOXOXOXOXOX**

All good things must end, Hermione thought to herself, miserably.

It was time to resume their hunt for the horcruxes, and they had a job to do. Oddly, however, she felt a draw to the older witch, the lady of the home. Her throat seemed paralyzed when she saw the simple white flower she had in her hand. As she walked over to Hermione, she rolled the stem between her fingers, a sad smile adorning her face.

As she weaved the flower into Hermione's hair, she whispered, "it was rumored that the first Veela brought down this flower down from the sky, and placed it into King Clovis' helmet, before war."

Hermione's throat tightened.

"And so ze legend of ze Fleur-de-lis was born! Ze white lily is said to confer protection, and..." she paused.

"And what, Fleur?"

Fleur cleared her throat. "Protection...and love."

Hermione wrapped her arms around the neck of the woman who had saved her, in so many ways. As she looked adoringly into Fleur's eyes, she murmured, "Well then, I guess that describes you perfectly, my Flower of the Court."

Fleur's eyes were a mess, and Hermione watched them darken.

"I've seen these flowers, before..." Hermione realized.

"Oui? Have you? Zey come from our family estate. Zes are rumored to be ze very same patch from which King Clovis cultivated the single flower he was given, until it became acres and acres of lilies!" Fleur laughed.

Looking down at the serious girl in her arms, Fleur immediately stopped laughing. It was only a matter of time before their eyes darkened again. Fleur leaned down, and allowed her lips to graze those of the younger woman's. Electricity shot through both of them; Hermione involuntary shuddered. Then Fleur's lips were there, just so right there...never had anything felt like it made her feel in that very moment.

And after their kiss, she felt a ripping sensation on her back, as the bud of the base of her winds began to form, through her skin.

"What the-?"

"And zere you 'ave it, folks." Grinned Fleur, while touching her forehead to that of the younger witch. "A real live Fae transformation!"

Hermione didn't speculate about it, on wonder what her "fiancé" was doing; she would have to remedy the "Viktor Krum situation" soon. One couldn't really marry someone, when they were in love with someone else. She didn't care about anything other than the sixty seven inches of gorgeous blond woman before her, dazzling her mind and soul.

Tomnliese Granger reflected, briefly. She had her wings, her one true love, and the prospect of the future after the defeat of the Dark Lord. And really what did it matter...anything else? She realized, at the end of the day, regardless of what the future held...here was her happy ending.

Hermione's Happily Ever After.

**THE END**


	9. QLFC: Hermione's First Day

**Author**: Ladyfun

**Title: Hermione's First Day**

**Pairing**: Hermione/Fleur

**Rating:** Generally K+

**Disclaimers:** All of this (Ladyfun gesturing big wide circles over the computer with her hand) belongs to J.K. Rowling. I own nothing, and this is all for non-profit fun. And I sure as heck don't own Quiddich.

**SUMMARY:** For the Quiddich League Fanfiction competition/Round 10. What happens when the brightest witch of her era has to apply that knowledge on her first day on the job in the Ministry? Hermione realizes book knowledge is very different in practical application of regulating magical creatures...one, in particular. Endgame: Fleurmione!

**A/N #1:** Written for Round 10 /Season 2 of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. Position is Beater 2 for the Wigtown Wanderers. BEATER 2 prompt: beast division (Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures)

**A/N #2**: OPTIONAL PROMPTS: 1. (quote) "Stories of imagination tend to upset those without one." Terry Pratchett. 2. (word) chemistry

**Random technicality: I can't post new fanfics, it would appear, so I am posting it as chapter 2 of Second Chances. This is UNRELATED story content to Second Chances.**

* * *

Title: Hermione's First Day  
Round 10/Crashing the Ministry  
Position: Beater 2- Prompt: Reg Magical Creatures  
Team: Wigtown Wanderers

* * *

**ROUND 10: CRASHING THE MINISTRY**

Hermione was often asked to recount her first day at work, if it was really as fantastic as the urban legend goes.

She would always reply, perfunctorily, "It wasn't that big of a deal, really."

Then after much prodding, she would roll her eyes, huff a little bit, and get down to the telling...

"It was my first day at my new job, as Head of the Department of the Regulation of Magical Creatures, a post I had been working towards for five years at the Ministry. Granted, I was the youngest Head ever, but I didn't feel that I was unprepared, at the time. Little did I realize how completely wrong that notion was!" She chuckled.

"It was quite a first day. A creature crisis, international espionage, lockdown, and I met my spouse...all in one day. This is how I remember it, sort of..."

**XOXOXOXO**

"They've infested everything! The onion harvest will be ruined!" Farmer McClaggen wailed, looking at an entire season of hard work going down the WC due to an infestation of evil Nogtails.

Although the Nogtail was a creature no bigger than a piglet, it was fierce and mean; accented by it beady and narrow black eyes, a thick stubby tail, and long legs. The longer the Nogtail goes unfettered on the farm, the longer the blight will stay on the farm. There had been reports, sporadically, that the Nogtail population had gone up, alarmingly, and was overrunning a variety of different types of farms.

This was the first major operation that was infested, however. McClaggen oversaw the largest distribution of root vegetables to the entire wizarding world. This could become very problematic very quickly.

Which is why the brand spankin' new Head of Magical Creatures was summoned from the Ministry.

"Chairman Granger," grumbled McClaggen. "I've seen every form of pestilence, but nothing like these little devils! I've tried to do everything – they don't even flinch at hexes!"

The assistants Hermione had brought looked around, nervously. The Nogtail epidemic had depleted their department of the one known defense against these creatures, that were prone to snack on humans as well. This was not good.

Completely ignoring their concerned murmurings, she turned to the farmer and put a reassuring hand on his arm.

"You're the best producer to all of Britain, Mr. McClaggen, you've been doing this for years! And if _you_ haven't experienced these, well then, I can't think of the producer that would have! I have to say…these buggers aren't endemic to here. You wouldn't be expected to know what to do." Hermione Granger said, gently, reassuring him.

He did look slightly relieved.

"Tell me, do your kids have any pets?"

"A few mice."

_Why does it always have to be mice?_ she thought to herself. "Can they bring them out here?"

He called for his children to do so, and they looked around furtively, looking for the Nogtails that had bit them several times. Hermione went to work quickly, reassuring the children and sending them back inside. As she grabbed the cages, her assistants looked at her, confused.

"They'll eat mice, bigger n' shit, Hermione." One said, worried.

"Oh, Smith!" She grinned. "Use a little imagination!"

"How's 'imagination' going to help us with the psycho Nogtails?" He said, defensively.

"Remember...imagination, Smith. Imagination!" Hermione pulled out her wand from its sleeve; most people in this department were paper pushers, and not used to throwing around hexes and jinxes the way Hermione Granger was; then again, she was the first Head of the Department that was an Order of Merlin recipient.

They watched, amazed, as Hermione did the complex wand movements necessary to transfigure the mice to resemble the large pure white dogs that scare Nogtails.

"Sorry," she said, hurriedly to McClaggen, "there's been kind of a Nogtail epidemic…we've tasked out our entire squad of pure white dogs…"

She completed the spell and looked at her small squad of Pure White Dogs, 100% albino, the one thing known to scare Nogtails. Hermione leaned over, and petted the animals, speaking in a soft and reassuring voice. Her assistants only caught part of it, but it sounded something like a pep talk.

"Now, go!" She commanded.

They bounded off, in all directions, barking and chasing the demon creatures who squealed as the scurried away.

"What fur-" he said, but was quickly interrupted by last of the Nogtails squeal, burrowing into a hole in the earth, with the white dogs chasing after them determinedly, attempting to dig.

Hermione chuckled, and walked over to the hole where the dogs looked at her, expectantly. She uttered a spell that sealed off the hole...for good.

She walked back with the pack of dogs behind her, wagging their tails, to a stunned McClaggen and her useless assistants.

She offered an explanation. "Normally, The Pest Sub-Division of the Ministry of Magic's Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures maintains a pack of a dozen albino bloodhounds specifically for this purpose of fending off Nogtails…but lately, they've been showing up in droves! Worldwide, not just Britain."

"Why?"

"I don't know, I really don't. Maybe, I think, it's because of urban development on their natural terrain...but that's honestly just a guess. It's peculiar, that's for sure."

"Wow." He said, amazed.

"Now, " Hermione sighed, "they should be free from your property forever."

"Madame Granger, you're a genus!"

"I'm not," she said, shaking her head. "I just read a lot." She shot a glare at her sheepish assistant, Smith. "And I have a bit of imagination, too. Hard not to, having gone to Hogwarts. But then again, I heard a quote that said, '_Stories of imagination tend to upset those without one_.' Seems applicable, to me in this moment, for some reason..."

McClaggen chuckled, noticing the look she was giving her assistants.

The look was not lost on her crew, who felt like they were going to have to go back to school to keep up with their new boss.

**XOXOXOXOXOXO**

It was pretty eventful, in a good way. Hermione became known as the Nogtail Queen by lunchtime at the Ministry, much to her dismay.

Her ability to archive vast amounts of random and archaic knowledge and facts at a moment's recall was becoming as legendary at the Ministry as it had been in her time at Hogwart's. She was busy teaching her assistants the complex transfiguration spell when the Minister himself came to their department.

"Ten-hut!" Called the first person who saw him.

"At ease, crew." Kingsley Shacklebolt said, calmly. "Ms. Granger, if I may pull you out, for just a moment?"

"Of course, sir." She looked at Smith. "Practice, and I'll check you when I get back."

"Yes ma'am." He said, glumly. He watched her walk out in her crisp stride as she and the Minister walked out of the room.

"Whad'ja suppose that's about?" his mate next to him said.

"Who knows? Hopefully, it's to tell her she's going back to the Auror department!" Smith said, while swishing his wand around, helplessly.

**XOXOXOXOXOXOXO**

"Hermione, it is only because you still hold the top secret clearance from your time in the Auror department, that I am even bringing you into this."

"Into what, Sir?" Hermione said, confused. "What is it that you're bringing me into, exactly?"

"One of the Black Level One Aurors needs a back brief of your Nogtail sightings. They requested you by name."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. The Black Level One Aurors were a super-secret subdivision within the Auror department; a section that the Minister himself would deny having knowledge about. They had many mythic names within the Ministry; the most common, however, called them "The Unspeakables."

She was led into one of the conference rooms and Kingsley himself warded it off. As he prepared to step out of the room, Hermione called after him.

"Wait-where are you going, Minister?"

He looked at her meaningfully. "I was not invited to this...conference, Hermione. Only with those with a "need-to-know." Good luck."

As he stepped out of the room, it sealed with an almost vacuume- like seal. Hermione felt like she could hear herself think, it was so sterile and quiet.

_"Bonjour."_

Hermione jumped, completely startled. The voice spoke again, as the owner of the voice turned around from a black leather chair in the middle of the room, to reveal someone unexpected to the Golden Girl.

"Ca-va, 'ermione?" Fleur Delacour said, with a grin.

She was just as radiant, years later, as she had been the day she pirouetted into the Great Hall at Hogwarts for the Triwizard Tournament, lo those many years ago.

Hermione sucked in a breath. "Ca-va bien, Mademoiselle" She caught herself. "Er, I'm sorry, I mean... Madame."

Fleur cocked her head to the side, charmingly.

"Mais non, you 'ad it right, ze first time. It iz Mademoiselle, still. _Mademoiselle Delacour_, at your service." She chuckled. Gesturing to the chair in front of her, she urged, "_Please_. Sit."

Now it was Hermione's turn to cock her head, this time, in confusion. "But, aren't you married?"

Fleur laughed. "No, dear 'ermione. I am not now, nor have I ever been, married."

"But...but...I was at your wedding!"

Fleur's eyes flashed with something unspoken, and the dark hue unnerved Hermione, for some reason. She rubbed her hands on her pants, as they were beginning to feel clammy. She took a deep breath. She felt something she hadn't felt in years...

_Nervous._

Fleur Delacour was making her nervous.

The intensity of her gaze wasn't helping matters, any. "So, we 'ave a...'ow you say...a "situation," 'ermione." The French witch began, gently. "Normally, in zis type of zing, I would simply extract your memory into a pensive, and then obliviate your memory. C'est suffit!"

Hermione looked a little startled. "But...arn't we on the same side?" She reasoned.

Fleur looked amused. She arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "Ah, 'ermione! When it comes to trust, surely you are not so ... naive, to zink sat ze Black Aurors are on anyone's side but zer own?"

In spite of herself, Hermione couldn't help but to steal a glance up and down Fleur's frame. Time had been good to the former Beauxbaton student. She was perfectly manicured, and impeccably dressed. She was perfect. Then again, she had always been perfect, to Hermione. The Gryffindor could never manage to feel the disdain for the French witch that her other female classmates did. And after what she did for her at Shell Cottage, well...

There would always be a place in Hermione Granger's heart for that amazing girl who patched her up and put her back together.

"See some zing you like, Mademoiselle Granger?" She said, amused.

Hermione began to blush, furiously. "I'm sorry, my thoughts were ... drifting. You were saying?"

"I waz saying...notzing, actually. I waz watching you."

"Oh."

Hermione looked away, feeling very uncomfortable under the heat from the steely blue gaze that Fleur's cerulean blues were generating, at the moment. She closed her eyes, and willed herself to find her Gryffindor courage and get herself together.

After a moment, she opened her eyes, looking at Fleur, and forced herself to smile. "Well, then, if that's the protocol, let's get on with it, then, shall we?"

"No."

"No?" Hermione said, confused. "But I thought you said..."

"I said, **no**, 'ermione."

"Um...I ... I don't understand, Fleur." Hermione stammered.

The Black Ops Auror stood up, and slowly headed towards her direction, like a predator with its prey. "I said no, and I mean...**no.**" Fleur lowered her voice. "Because I don't want you...to forget, this time."

"I don't follow?"

"Of course you don't." Fleur said, Bitterly. She was pacing in a languid way; she seemed to be admitting this to herself as much as to Hermione. "Let's start with ze Nogtails. Ze Nogtails are ours, 'ermione."

"What?"

"Zey 'ave been hexed, to ferret out stolen plutonium zat is being hidden in radiation-free containers in ze ground, across ze globe. When zis irradiated Plutonium iz charmed in a certain way, and attached to ze base of ze wand, it can make ze unforgivables curses...exponentially more so."

Hermione gasped.

"Mais oui, belle!" Fleur said, acknowledging her shock. "It will attack multiple people, not just one. Unfortunately, ze people who have acquired sis 'ave set up very dangerous booby-traps, and it is too dangerous to retrieve sis de novo; so we have trained ze Nogtail to dig out ze containers."

"Oh..."

Fleur grinned. "Zen, we slowly escalated ze Nogtail epidemic, and would release our trained ones interspersed wiz ze regular ones...and we have been very successful with zis method, until today."

"Oh." Hermione said, heart sinking. "I see. I... I never heard of this...training..." she stammered, inarticulately.

Fleur finished pacing, standing directly in front of Hermione, leaning down with her arms flanking Hermione's arm rests. Hermione tried with valiant effort not to gaze down her cleavage, on display right in front of her.

_"Nor would you_, 'ermione." Fleur said, pointedly. "We zink zat zere iz a mole, in ze ministry zat is assisting ze rogue Wizards wiz ze irradiated plutonium."

"Do you know who?" She asked, figuring what could it hurt to ask, if she was going to be oblivated, anyway?

Fleur chuckled, the deep and throaty laugh of hers. She looked at Hermione, briefly, and tucked a strand of Hermione's hair behind her ear.

_That's nice..._ Hermione thought to herself, vaguely recalling something. Wait! S_he's done that before...s_he furrowed her brow, and then said with a gasp. "You've oblivated my memory before, haven't you, Fleur?" Hermione said, with a shocked realization. She then stood straight up, suddenly. The unexpected movement nearly sent the Veela sprawling backwards.

Hermione was furious. "When? _When_ did you do it, before?" Hermione said, angrily.

Fleur sighed, rubbing her brows. She closed her eyes, and exhaled. "Shell cottage." She admitted.

"Why?" Hermione said, furious.

Fleur did not speak, for a long time, rather, she stood silently, looking away. After what felt like an eternity, she turned back to Hermione.

"In your new post as 'ead of Magical Creatures, 'ermione, tell me...what 'ave you learned about Veelas?"

Hermione shook her head. "Not much. They are very secretive, as you well know, and actually classified as extremely dangerous because of their physical prowess, speed, and hyper-intellegnece. This, coupled with their human-form thrall, makes them a very persuasive and deadly foe, if angered."

"Hmm. And what did you zink of zis?"

"Well, if you must know, the more I read about your physical abilities, the more I wondered why you sucked at the Triwizard Tournament, actually." Her eyes widened. "No offense, Fleur."

Fleur chuckled. "None taken, belle. A good point. And, if I might add, it took ze brightest witch of ze era to realize zat."

"Realize what?"

"Zat I ... how you say... "threw"? I threw ze tournament."

"What? Why?" Hermione said, incredulously.

"Well..." Fleur said, in a far away voice, "It waz between ze first and second tasks, actually, zat I was recruited into ze Black Forces, 'ermione. My 'andlers didn't want me to win. It would bring too much notoriety, actually."

"He-your handler- actually asked you to do that, Fleur? That's insane!"

"_She_, 'ermione. She. My 'andler was a she...and _yes_, she did."

Hermione just shook her head, but it made sense to her. Fleur should have run rings around the other Champions.

"Well, that explains a lot." Hermione said. "I hope your "handler" bought you a nice drink, afterwards!"

"Well, no, not exactly...she died, shortly thereafter. My 'andler was ... my mozzer, Apollene." Fleur sighed. "I had no choice, really, ozer san to go into ze family business, so to speak."

Hermione's jaw dropped. "Oh, Bloody Hell! You're kidding me!"

Fleur laughed. "Zat's exactly what you said, ze first time!"

Hermione's eyes grew dark, as Fleur continued. "I told you about zis, at Shell Cottage, and why I couldn't be wiz you, 'ermione, despite my 'eart crying out desperately for you..."

A single tear fell from her eye, and she looked downward, ashamed. Hermione resisted the urge to comfort her.

She looked up, sorrowful. "In your readings, what did you learn about Veelas and zee mates, 'ermione?"

Hermione's jaw was tight. "Very little." She said, briskly.

"Well, let me tell you, zen. Ze Veela has but one "perfect one." One chance, to get it right. I didn't realize, completely, sat you were my one during ze Triwizard tournament, because you were underage." She paused. "But what 'append, at Shell Cottage, 'ermione?"

Hermione's eyes widened with realization. "My...my birthday..." she said, quietly.

"Oui. Your birthday, 'ermione. You became...**_of age_**. And my Veela recognized you;_ you,_ 'ermione, its one and only true love and mate." She exhaled.

Hermione slammed her eyes shut with the admission, a series of memories assaulting her. Times they were lying together at the beach; times they laughed; times they had meaningful talks; times they made lunch; times Fleur rubbed her feet; times they kissed...

"No, no, no!" Hermione wailed, now crying, the emotions too much for her to relive. "How_ could_ you?"

Fleur looked stoic, and utterly defeated. "Really? 'ermione, I was going to leave for a suicide mission, wiz Bill, shortly after your departure! We weren't expected to live! Why would I tie you to me, when I thought I was going to die?"

"Really?" Hermione asked, skeptically. She wiped her eyes, and asked, cynically. "Well! What happened?"

The French Veela stepped disturbingly closer. "Well," she began slowly, "We _lived_. And I have not stopped zinking about you, ever since." She admitted. "And I can't help but wonder, if fate has brought us back togezher over zees silly creatures, for a reason..."

Hermione sighed. "Fleur, let's just get this over with. Do what you have to do." Hermione slumped down in the chair, preparing for her mind to be erased.

Fleur aimed her wand, pointing it at the younger witch.

"First, answer me zis, 'ermione...could you have ever loved me, back, do you zink?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Could I have? What? Are you mental, Fleur? Could I have loved you..." She muttered, disgusted. "Fleur, I always have!" She huffed. "Now, get on with it, please!"

Fleur aimed her wand at Hermione's chest, and the Gryffindor braced herself.

As the Black Ops Auror incanted her spell, Hermione expected a bolt of amber light to shoot from her wand, the memory erasing spell that she herself had once cast.

However, no Amber light shot out.

Instead, a spell was uttered that Hermione was unfamiliar with. Instead of a flash of Amber light, a small fizzle of pink shot out from the end of Fleur's wand. And in from of Hermione Jean Granger was two dozen red and pink roses, wrapped with a white bow.

Fleur leaned over, and picked them up. She kneeled before the brunette, looking ashamed.

"I can't take back ze past, 'ermione; but our chemistry is undeniable! All I can hope, all I can ask...is zat you be mine. Can you forgive me, 'ermione? Can you find it in your 'eart, to commit to me, and be my one true love?"

Hermione looked at the earnest face in front of her, all thoughts of errant Nogtails, plutonium, moles, and other things flying out of her head. Instead, she looked at the gorgeous woman before her, and uttered the singular thought remaining in her head:

"Of course, goose! " Hermione smiled. "I already have."

**The End.**


End file.
